Page 34 - The First Letter To My Lady.

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Or perhaps we should keep these unsacred games for

another day? A day where my eye meets yours.

Digital media keeps swarming through, shifting paradigms of

what it means to exist, and what it meant to value someone,

let alone yourself. One would think being attentive, being

present, would be the defining metric, to be responsive, to be

available, to be there. But what if existence was an

excruciation?

It bleeds formless droplets of bloodstream to wonder the

fun-metric of a conversation. If humor were the basis of

likeability, self-esteem would ripple out from under me. For

I, am as antithetical as it gets, to the exuberant vitalities of

mirthful jolly.

That digital media burns through my desiderates, through

my heart as a crucifying nail of times a-changing. All my life

searching for meaning, for a higher meaning that defined

human purpose, they were for naught. Were fraught with

delinquencies of deficient blabbering, for I derided my

misfit infirmities.

As if this wait wasn’t enough…

And so, I write & I write. And I write some more. In slimly

shimmering hopes that that final ‘union’ of ours might prove

all idiosyncrasy a worthy bet. Every day, it proves to be a

haunting echo chamber, however. A crucifix of empty

avenues burning ulcers through my gut. But it wasn’t the

wait that gets you – it’s the anxiety. The what & the how of

what lies beyond.

As JEE presses down at our foyer. The path that lies await for

you puzzles me with all its permutations. Are three more

months all there are? Or worst cases lurk beyond? I fear -

rather selfishly - the reasonable option of extra-domestic

admission haunts the back of my head. Are we destined to

never even come across at all? Could I be that unfortunate,

that karma-stricken?