Lost And Gone

Of late, I had some déjà vu brushes with history. I don’t know what to make of it. The vile taste is gone but it was not pleasant either. Wounds were not scraped raw but I am still protective of my scars. After all, they are my spiteful medallions; a constant grim reminder of how imprudent I can be.

I may be fascinated with the mundane details but that doesn’t mean I give a hoot. I will not walk and lessen the distance. I will not sing along to this ostentatious melody. Indifference is my most potent instinct. I now choose the truths that I will hold dear.

I realize that happiness has a certain fleeting nature and often it comes with a painful trade-off. Such cruel ambiguity is too colossal for me. In the end, I just refuse to feel.

Sometimes it is really better to be lost than to be found.