Everyone has a story

There are so many people. They’ve so many stories. Sometimes they reflect a certain degree of discontentment, and their lips shiver and their eyes… They become wet, and then they let us explore a side of theirs no one ever could. There are so many with the tragedy of partition, there are so many mothers waiting for their son to come home, from that late night party, drooling of disgust, drunk and inebriated, and the strict fathers getting that phone call that their son didn’t make it through the accident.

There are so many lovers trying their best to help the other, the girl with that golden smile, left alone in the dark of the city, waiting to be rescued, and you see from the far away corner of the road, her smile glowing frequently. There are so many grandmothers taking care of their druggie grandchildren.

The echoes of these stories are heard thoroughly by every passerby, and these stories continue to echo, for days and days and years and centuries.

“My son, was the best son.”
“We gifted him a car. It killed him.”
“I loved him, but he left me.”
“Addicts never change.”

And they prevent us from sleeping.

Honesty in a fake society

There is and old saying “It’s better to be slapped with the truth than kissed with a lie” and I am among a very selected few that actually believe this rings true. People say they want the truth but in reality they want you to say what they want to hear.

Maybe it’s me there is problem with, maybe I need to stop being honest with people. I mean what’s the point upfront and honest with people when they would be happier living a lie and having you consign for it. They say ignorance is a bliss maybe that’s why intelligent people go insane, it is truly burden to know and feel so much and know there is no way a good majority of people will ever able to understand, share and or appreciate your thoughts, gestures and opinions. People are so used to other lying and being fake, honesty is now taboo. People look for hidden meaning in words that have none because everyone is so accustomed to bullshit; no one says what they really mean.

One thing you can always count on me for you is to take my words at face value and this is why I now stay to myself. I don’t fit in this society or this generation; I’m not plastic enough.