I am exactly what the poets say; a hopeful, deranged lover. A lover to so many fragrances, a lover for hope, such destructive hope. It is always a tragedy for every me, around the world. I look around and see gold-plated smiles and a new definition of love everyday. Love, that is a mouthful excuse; who in this neon blooded world could fall in the claws of love?
I live in the blue hour, the silence in our hearts, between the mourn after apocalypse and the rise of a new world. I live in between a new age and the painful acceptance of leaving the warmth of my mother's womb.
I live in a disheveled room, a room in the wildness of expectations, disappointments and trials.
I have lived here for quite a while, seeing, laughing, crying, learning.
Did you know the world lives in purple? In the purple room of wait and gloom. There is so much gloom in a generation that only waits as a damsel in distress, for they are scared that fate would once again blow on the trumpet if they move the slightest bit.
But, I am not one of this generation. I am hopeful, I am insane.
So, the first woeful rain of the year whispered to me;
love is a pathetic alternative to death.
and yet I fall into it. Silly me.
