How often does man hope for a reason to point a finger at, when things go wrong – a person, the circumstances and maybe, if all else fails, fate. And how debilitating is the stark truth, screaming into one’s face that the reason lies within; rubbing salt into wounds.
Here I was thinking that it won’t be such a big deal this time around. That my failure, if ever that comes to pass, will be masked under the pretense of necessity. Well, there’s news: It still hurts! The same old wave of failure overwhelming my senses and drowning me in its sense of familiarity. It’s the first year all over again. And yet it’s different. I am not that first year kid anymore, then why the same offence? Have these three years taught me nothing?
There’s a sense of deprivation that makes me feel as I have lost out on everything that mattered. The air smacks of the relish my thoughts take in pushing me into those pits of misery, the fires of which would soon consume my spirit.
I lost when it mattered the most. I lost the very beacon that seemed to steer my ship through the disorienting mist – It once gave me purpose. I drift aimlessly now like those Fall leaves, bereaved of a hold, that are blown about by the slightest gust of wind. For the little I have, I struggle to protect.
I am hoping to point fingers at, but it’s a ‘House of Mirrors’ I stand in. Alone and haunted….
