Unrequited Infatuation
Probably, we’re better off just like this — holding the perpetual angst, momentary thrills, welcoming psychopathological interlopers as those things happened on my part and being numbed by the detached disposition on his part.
What stifles me quite ironically is, I guess, accepting the fact that we are over time bound by common interests while also dissolved by our own unbridgeable temperament. The latter is, indeed, a puzzle we hardly converge on of resolving. Wait, what if I am trapped in my subjective assessment into regarding it in such a way that in reality none at all?
“Anything could happen down the road,” as my alter-ego always assures me, can be thought of as a kind of propagandistic belief to keep my mind in suspense as to ‘expect the unexpected’ along this road of a divinely ordained determinism.
No matter how persistent I’ve retraced these interwoven strings of the past to where I am, and we both are now. But questions still persist— roaming its answer. And despite for me having countlessly withdrawn from time to time, moving forward — Time had always found its way to converge us on. That, shouldn’t have happened. It did nonetheless. Why?
O Renaissance Welsh old soul…
I found myself bloody unable to expect for having no idea what to expect. But, why would I? Neither, why should he be someone I suppose to expect from?
Damn, excuse all this Rousseauian posturing ramble!
Alas… I let these words, in spite of swallowing the stone, speak for itself to the full of my disquietude.
