Thursday, October 13, 2011
Scratching the walls of my sentiment
What is the real meaning of this thing that we call life? Is it to love? Is it to be loved? Or is there some other reason that this bunch of atoms have decided to congregate to create this pathetic being sitting before you? At times I wonder if this single characteristic that defines who I am as a person even has any significance.
I am at times...most times, distracted from what I am doing in life and am given to thoughts of inferiority and a sense that I lack purpose. These thoughts only come at me in a time when I am in a place where that purpose that so clearly defined itself previously, has been challenged and the truth that poured over me like a monsoon, been questioned. This life has been nothing but a success. Noting but a blessing. But if that is the case, why am I constantly distracted by its minor lackings. Is it that there are imperfections that are characteristic of my simple human existence that remind me that not everything is immaculate?
My present rings of songs of success. My present dances in jubilation of the opportunities I, everyday, am presented with. But its desperate attempts to distract me from my past go unnoticed and quite frankly ignored. My past stomps around in the corridors of my mind yelling in aguish at my attempts to forget it. It throws rocks of compacted hatred at the windows that have failed to hold it in. In its temper tantrum it scratches the walls of my sentiment and tears down the images of my present that take me away from the happiness I attempt to dress myself in everyday.
What the hell? Hell. Hell. Why aren't the successes of my today enough to utterly destroy the failures of my past? Why cant the past simply leave me alone to enjoy the life that my God has carefully crafted for me? Is it that it wants a second chance to make things worse? Is it honestly attempting to convince me that it is the better choice? HA!!!! I laugh at the attempts of my past to drag me back into its bosom. It is labeled "past" for a reason. And until it can accept that inconvenient truth it will be tortured by me and everything my life is defined by.