Somebody asked me how am I feeling today. As is the norm
with our species, I didn't offer him the whole truth. "Fine" was the
answer he expected and "Fine" was what he got. If it were a different
world where people said what they really felt like—or more importantly, what
needs to be shared—I would have elaborated on why I'm not "Fine". I
might have informed him how I usually feel like an overcrowded fast train
that's moving slowly. And not going anywhere in particular. Also, I wake up
every morning as if I had undergone rigorous imprisonment during my sleep. My
mirror had seen better faces. Of mine. Sometimes I feel like that invisible
hand pushing me over the cliff. But I don't fall down because I have better
days ahead... to address worse things. At times, I turn cold and blank and
don't understand what's going on around me. I try to stay grounded and not get
caught talking to myself. The voices in my head are amusing but they never let
me interrupt them. Whatever be the reason, they just don't understand me.
Sometimes I feel emptier than the “fine”. I've spent better days in poetry when
my verses made me the richest jerk on the planet. This was before I became a
recluse. Every once in a while, my past relieves me and allows me moments to
cherish. Instead of holding them close to myself, I squander them on creating
one-liners I don't believe in. More often than not, I don't agree with a lot of
theories floating around but I'm loath to confrontations. That explains why I
don't defend myself, online or offline. However, there are instances when I can
go on and on about what I could have said instead of just "Fine".
