And so he sat at the beach front again. Trying to make peace with the dark still night. Nothing but water and sand in front of him. And the thoughts that are his curse. The thoughts and the whole thinking process that doesn’t let him be. Hand in hand with emotions. The two enjoined together since the dawn of his existence never to leave him. Never to let him be rid of them. And they play themselves out on a canvas of a star less night.
Why he thought (the irony ever so blatant)? Why won’t these thoughts abandon me? Why can’t emotions not construe a scenario with much fewer possibilities, permutations and combinations? And why do they come in every time? Is the ability to be objective so hard to attain? Question after question just racing through and before he knew it, the chance to make peace with the dark night was gone. Lost before his eyes as sand slips through the grasp of one’s hand. And he is still stuck the same questions rooting out from his emotions to become the fodder for his continuous and cursed thinking.