The Thread of Life Seeker

​93 million miles from the Sun, people get ready get ready,
’cause here it comes it’s a light, a beautiful light, over the horizon into our eyes

Sandra wandered long the broken road; tired sometimes but always found ways to get the spirit ignited. She once lost and tossed and then crashed hard. But she moved past failures and gave another chance over; even when it meant starting over, yet again and again.

Life is about finding a home, a place or a thing that makes you feel like coming back anytime, and I’m finding it by traveling from one country to another. Simply, to find ‘my home’ .” Keenan was stark overwhelming by the wishful possibility of his future invention; of a ‘home’ in its purest possible definition, in its most essence. Sandra made pause and gave moment a silence to reenact her own of the same concern. She moved aside her strawberry cake in exchange of her giving a serious attention to the figure in front of him; and it was shown vividly by her transparent made form wrinkled on her forehead. Not until she realized a few minutes later the book in her grasp ‘ Are you living or existing’ by Kimanzi Constable gave her a mental burst.

She made firm contact with him before she was ready with her utterance, ” Here, Keenan, hear. At least if you do it right, you will love where you are .” Keenan gave a chance to the words to seep in his mind, “ If you do it right… ”

—-

Every road is a slippery slope

There is always a hand that you can hold on to.

Looking deeper through the telescope

You can see that your home’s inside of you

The Misconception of Me

She continued the stroll along the Marlion park when the sun radiated the light in full sting but not a whit did she feel anything contagious of its warm even with her in a wrap of her dark grey sweater;and her head in endless questioning still, “I shouldn’t have let anyone get the better of me. What if I insisted to make an acquaintance, my life could have been rendered a whole lot differently. I shouldn’t have let loose my guard. Am I amount as much to my concern?” She lied stare in no blink with her right hand in a full grasp of her borrowing the book, “Orlando” by Virginia Woolf. She barely able to make sense of each words no matter how worth it was a further thought what captivated her yes the sentences that seemed to her matter but she was in a state of confusion of a matter lesser important in remembrance.

Disillusioned

image

I believe… The way back to you will feel a little far.

Gather ye rosebuds, while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying”

Seized the day. Carpe Diem. Living life to the fullest.”  If only no medical consequences of having my head banged or to do so, was the only surest way to regain back my sanity, It would leave me zero hesitation in doing it,

Where is my passion, when I need it the most?” The remaining sparks in me urged me to leave out sentimentality, to spend more time in reality. As I might look miserable in the time’s eyes, the passion is no longer there.

Why is it with the losing? Why one has that powerful a force to ignite and dim another’s soul flame?” To my head’s question I knew what had touched the deepest heartstring, “because you gave a permission, even when rather involuntarily, to this one odd substance to fill in the void.” I nodded in agreement with the head’s wisdom. But it pained me deeper for the substance disappearance got me lost in my own endless questioning.

As days pass by,
If you forget the way, I’ll be waiting