Where did I began from where am I going to end, seems like a dot which was spread over the moments lived in the longest self. What counts was not where I was how it was but yet what I did mostly. Being not one and lone was not one wish but mere fear of. A fear of not being the one, being a dot was left with constraints in self, beyond the desires lays one. As we move can’t see things the same as we are not the same from the self that came, to what we grew in to fault a beautiful one.
All along all the time traveling through the lone path is not one in one but many in one and yet the dot remains to be a dot a change not happening. We see many alike but what we assume once we see it from not far they are fair enough and larger than life. We fall over it and climb over it to see the unseen forgetting it all through we were yet the dot. That a debacle of pinnacle and we tend to be surpassed with mere thoughts what one becomes when one sees someone else in themselves while being their along with the unlike likes. Yet the beauty of the tides is it doesn’t let me fall on the shore hitting me hard but carry over towards the horizons of the dusk and dawns. Perplexed I drool at it being like hallow ball engulfing me in itself seems so big. But what I am for it, mere a dot unseen unnoticed more complex form of forgotten tale.
The acquaintance of the dusk and dawn let me see myself not being myself as I changed for it not for it but for myself. As what I have become was the influence of the tides sweeping me away to the most beautiful lawn of autumns and I walk over the fallen leaves crumbling them with my feet a few or more time. Forgetting the fall which might beneath them I saw in mist and snow a bud.
Closer I got to it feel the smell of it the skin I touched the soul that I felt in me while being in it with it was accord. But not for the rose many were their like me it felt nothing and something. I never knew it touched it saw it blooming and crying as the dews came up, saw it smiling it from within throwing itself to the world or me unfurling itself more and more I thought I saw it all
The more I thought the more I collapsed in the inner beauty of it surrendering to the splendor of the great endurance. But the moment I felt I am engulfed I felt it’s an entrapment the dot I was.
The petals felling to fly high and high far away from me, as me being mere an acquaintance for none other than whom. The petals I saw were not in the closet but I was thrown out of the engulfing envelope of the life around myself all of a sudden the belief of trust for being the one turned floristic an ambiguity vouched.
Far off and close I felt from within a dot being erased for not being in acts of facts or being away from it a fault of not the dot but a clout crippling in me inside and outside. The spurt of anguish is not for the belief as its hard to fall for and yet to believe but yet I freeze under the snow the air getting warm. The distance of the closet turning away to more true though a half on the complex thought of the dot. Yet the dot is yet to fall in itself the inertia is yet to shrink it in itself.
