We are all trapped in this bubble- This prison of our own making. And sometimes, the prisons interlock agaisnt one another- and we are left facing anothe person for the rest of our lives

We call it love

She sees him from a distance, her hair cascading down her face in tufts of black velvet....she sees him, and smiles. Perhaps today shall be the day he tells her, perhaps the waiting will be over. Her heart tightens into a knot at the very thought of spending the rest of his life with him.
We are all pulled into this. This bleak and blank expanse of love and hate and desire, What we are, we are not i t makes babies of us. We desire, we long and we want. And when everything is stripped away, when the flesh does not want, and the blood does not coarse through the veins, what then are we?

Just beings of flesh and bone

There is the spirit too. Where is the spirit ? Where is the life? Disenchantment grows quickly under this sullen skin.

“But you have had a good life” she tells me

“Yes, but not an honourable one” What do we do that affects the world...where do we draw the line between hat we earn for and our desire to change the world, to make a difference in it somehow. They look at me and all they see is the fat and the laughter and the round face. Maybe that is because when I look at myself all I see is the same. If I looked at myself differently, would they change their opinion of me ?

“Dont worry about them, the world does what it must “

Yes, and sitting here with you, in this Kafkaesque version of my reality, I feel nothing. Is it the same as feeling at peace , I ask her.

She shrugs and leans in closer to me...and we watch the rain pass by the window

Love is a many pronged thing, snaking its way past undiscovered crevices- making its way into the deepest part of us -- Till a causally said line like- ' we should just be friends' finally causes breaking strain
And yes, the heart is a fragile thing - After every disaster, every koss, we tell ourselves- no ' I will not fall in love again' - yes, the heart is fragile
so are dreams, hopes, families, and even bodies too
But I would rather recollect a life misspent on fragile things than one spent avoding moral debt
So the only uestion to be asked - really- now- is this
When the lights are off, and the sound of applause has died- when all the audience to this great drama has moved away- when finally, there is a need to be taken home
Will you still be there - witing in the wings- helping him clean up, helping him sort out the mess on the stage- putting him to sleep ??