A hopeless anxiety conquers territory in the depths of my imagination. It’s staring, with the despair of a restless tiger in a cage. Aggression drools from its atrocious jaws. It sharpens its claws, scratches the floor with its horrifying paws. I’m possessed with fearless demons, that haunt me and eye me like a falcon its prey. Thoughts are merciless and cruel in their patience, for they circle endlessly, as vultures in the sky over carrions in the sand.
Love is meant to be more than an echo of your own voice. Deafening sounds the silence of the unanswered love; but equally hollow is the sound of loneliness of the selfish person. For in the end, the more (s)he wants, the less (s)he will be wanted. What fool ever came up with the idea of the hare and the tortoise having to race? The winner may loose eventually, after all. For sour tastes victory that has to be celebrated alone. I am not a fighter, I am not a racer. All I want is to move, and feel the breeze blowing through my hair.
Love is meant to be more than an echo of your own voice. Deafening sounds the silence of the unanswered love; but equally hollow is the sound of loneliness of the selfish person. For in the end, the more (s)he wants, the less (s)he will be wanted. What fool ever came up with the idea of the hare and the tortoise having to race? The winner may loose eventually, after all. For sour tastes victory that has to be celebrated alone. I am not a fighter, I am not a racer. All I want is to move, and feel the breeze blowing through my hair.
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