Wednesday, 27 July 2011


In between the moments where we are dead, the world is a whirlwind ride of ups and downs, lively silences and murderous conversations meant to remind us that everything, by its very nature, is of fickle heart and feeble mind. It is when we are dead that we are safe. The sad part is, we are most alive when we are in fear of dying, and we can't decide which is better; knowing that you stand to fear nothing ever again, or fearing that everything you want to stay alive for is going to one day be lost forever anyways, so what is the point?

We are deadwood, floating down a river, sat in reflections of what we have done.


Richa said...


Dreaminglass said...

You are far too kind.

M said...

Whats is this 'we'?

Dreaminglass said...

we (wiː)

— pron

2. refers to all people or people in general: the planet on which we live
3. when used by editors or other writers, and formerly by monarchs, a formal word for I.

Now, I'm no writer, nor am I a monarch of any sort. Common sense would, therefore, point to 2. However, my attempt to invoke empathy seemingly having failed with you, maybe it's just my way of cowardly being unwilling to admit that this is how I feel, and I alone feel this way. The thought inspires....loneliness. I've grown weary of that sentiment, so I'd rather not face it.

Apologies if I seem snide, or incorrigibly rude. I honestly tried not to be. *curtsies*

The Atom said...

:) hehe loved your explanation on 'we' :)