It is moments that qualify an otherwise lonely journey called as life for all of us. Moments that we cherish, moments we love, moments we hate. They all add up to a final balance sheet, the quality of which even the smartest of fudging can only mildly disguise but never hide. And if you have one like mine, where most entries are of the 'smile and I will be fine walking away' kinds, you are damned.
It is a bit confusing to how it can be described precisely. At times I feel like a bear being prodded and poked at in a street side baiting show, other times I feel like a journeyman fighter for whom the next fight could potentially be his last. You spend a lifetime fighting things for survival first and when you manage that, you create your own ghosts to fight, for without it you are no one.
I am weary and I am tired. It is a race of attrition that I am bound to lose, arms and limbs too weary to lift the weapons for one last time, the armor is tattered and punctured, waiting for the final blow of deliverance. All I have to meet it with is the most peaceful of the smiles I have ever smiled, this is one defeat I shall welcome with open arms.
It was not like this always. There used to be a time when I would see nice things and tell myself that this is just another phase, just another battle to survive, someday it could be mine too. Sadly it does not work out that way. In between loaned and stolen moments that never belong to you, the truth shines clear like the flash of light on the sword of deliverance, it is never meant to be. You belong to the road and the battlefield, they are your most loyal companions, you owe your allegiance to them.
There are lots of things I would like to believe in, that things better do exist in this world, but those are written in a language that does not define what I am. In other words, they are dishonest to my being. The moments you stay on after the battle, are not yours, your truth is one that holds only in the gore and violence. Beyond that, everything is a fallacy. It tempts but it never delivers.
You are just a cruel form of entertainment, cruel, but entertainment all the same. One that feeds on the cliched bloody scars that pass off for medals. How is anyone to differentiate when they all look the same, just memories covered by half-dead flesh and lacerated skin held together by drying blood.
You are just a grimy dim lamp, that lights up the darkness only to be outshoned and extinguished in the light of the day.