Realization. A bee hive . The bees rather, guarding each other with utmost consciousness. And that day I made the mistake of poking one. It was moments and I was surrounded by the entire swarm.
My life, if I am at all answerable to myself, has been a series of wrong decisions. The misery is each of them came with a choice. Perhaps that was the perk of familiarity. Familiarity, for me, comes in with the fake sense of security. Not only that I have let myself bud and ripe and perhaps rot in the same shelf for 19 years, but its beyond the place. Its self to a larger hand. Familiarity to self, and you loose the joy of exploring.
I had left it only with the title for over two weeks, but had it framed up for over a couple more. Each night had a greater part battling the dilemma of whether making that night faithful. But the moon had her scars, and her scars worried her more. I know that tonight would but own a new membership to the regret list, yet again, that’s something I am familiar to.
It’s no reason you’re reading this. You don’t have to. But surely it is a reason why I chose to write. There had been times I’m sure, and there had always been reasons to fall for. And if there hadn’t, the pride of the fake security had always managed to find me some. And that was worse. You watch your favourite building, the one you had designed, the one which you wanted to own crumble, brick by brick, yet you never reaslise that you had the hammer in hand. And perhaps that not realizing becomes realization!
There’ll be choices again, there shall be reasons again, there shall be crossings again and there shall be Wrong Turns again. People allure you, people need you, you allure them, you need them, impudence pillars, familiarity builds, realization crashes. Well that’s dramatic enough to define my mind tonight. And another regret all over again.
Familiarity was never virtue-less. She lacked mirth for sure, she overbrimmed impudence true, she faked strength of course, but she had the power of delusion. A most beautiful delusion worth falling for. Like hands for the gloves, like fish for the tank, like milk for the glass, it was a delusion to be treaded slowly. It pulled enough, but was like the attraction of the Sun for the Earth, which was strong, yet which left immense space between. And I am just a spec after all! Would my fall always remain a regret?