Mondays are happy now.
But the roads out there are unforgiving.
One wrong move, and I can lose all that I have.
Yes, I am scared.
I am always scared.
I am constantly tormented by this fear of
not being enough.
Not beautiful enough.
Not interesting enough.
Just not enough.
What actually hurts is when I see someone better and realise that I could be there.
And the only reason why I am not, is me.
It hurts to be any less than what I could be.
It hurts to be so small, so insignificant, so ignorant about things.
The grief of knowing what I actually am, is unbearable.
Sometimes I sit and think:
“How could I ever do this to myself?”
I know that I have lost the most precious things of my life due to my own incompetence.
This realisation stings me everyday.
That’s a wound that might bleed for a very long time.
But I am in no mood to get any more scars.
No matter what I do,
There is a deep sense of discontentment that never leaves my side.
Although I have no desire for this immortal chase,
But this time,
I’ll run. I’ll sweat.
I’ll exhaust every single streak of my blood to protect the few things I can call mine.
You can call me a maniac.
But I am all up to be distorted to shreds.
I know that no matter how thoroughly I submit to the demands of this ever-demanding world,
It will never be enough.
I am all up for my affair with the impossible.