lyre bird and cameras

Hope and hopelessness. My life oscillates like a pendulum between three magnets; I can't seem to guess which way it will tend next.

I wonder if you think of me. I wonder if you don't. I will always watch from afar, I guess. The answers to some questions are always found by accident.

Love becomes hate; hate becomes sorrow. I don't think I'll save these flowers before they have blackened and died. I wish I could entrap these times when I laugh, even more these times when I cry, and keep them like photographs for a later day.

I wish it didn't have to happen this way. Circumstance can be a monster sometimes; it takes human relation, human emotion, to be playthings. There is no room in Fate for people. We all know that too well. But it's just as hard to accept, every time we realise it again.

Night is day and day is night. The struggles of life are measured now by the gaps between the stars, so much vaster than they seem from where we stand.

I feel it sinking in, the pressure of knowing I can only fall from here. By now, I'm sure they think I'm a genius. They can't see that I'm hanging by a thread. And I can't tell them so, because they will laugh at my 'modesty'. This is what you get for being at the top. No glory or fulfillment, only knowledge that you have a title to maintain, an honour to lose. It's like primary school, all over again.

There is enough of life left for all of us, enough to share around with everyone. But there isn't enough time in each of us to enjoy the life we have been given. Let's seize the day, and the night, and the leaves of bittersweet questioning trapped in the cracks between.