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The Epitome of Uncertainty and Incoherence

I wish I had killed someone, or committed some other heinous a long time ago.

The whisper that echoes through my mind as I picture myself blowing a cake, because in few minutes, I would cease to be a kid and I would be tried and punished to the fullest extent of the Law. By midnight, I would officially be an adult citizen.

18 years, and I'm still wobbling in my baby legs, walking down a path that leads to nowhere, groping desperately for purpose in this meaningless existence. Nearly two decades have past, but they have lost their meaning, if they ever had a meaning. It was as if all this time I've been sleeping, occasionally waking up only to find out that the calendar has a new number on it. And each time trying to look back but only see a recurring dream:

A dream of a man lying prostrate on the ground, as everything around him zooms by, whirling, dancing, evolving, and dying. The world passes by in the blink of an eye, and in the end is just an old cobblestone country road, extending into the horizon. The road was straight, defined, and cleared. And at the end of the road was the warm promise of light, seductive, enticing, and elusive. But now that he has reached the line where the horizon was, he sees nothing but dull grey skies blocking out the sun, covering the road in long deep shadows, shadows of a man distant yet unsettingly and disturbingly, familiar.

So here I am lying down on what could be my deathbed, trying to contemplate on the last minutes of my life. Should I put an end to it all now, hold this life in my hands and choke it, strangle it, and castrate it? Or wait another year, a decade, or even a century for those last few minutes, wait for the right time to hear the sound of her wings, and finally recieve her gift, or the high cost of living? Neither, because now is not the right time.

For now, I'll live on, looking forward to that day. Living a life, that would someday, be worth ending at last.

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thrown by A.Paul @ 23:53,

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