A Glorious Sunset.

Another day shrinks back into this thick blanket prevailing across the horizon, another glorious sunset : a plethora of color, a marriage of splendid hue. Sitting on this wooden bench, I see a flock of birds soar high above, across these amber skies, heading back towards an unascertained destination.Sunlight strobes through these irregular branches, and I feel it illuminate my face. It awakens all my distant insecurities and I feel them forming knots, twisting and tangling my insides.

The tangerine sky feels so extravagantly alive amidst this gradually fading light, amidst this approaching duskiness as if in the temporary moment that resides between inevitable endings and hopeful beginnings, is a reality so immensely beautiful, so profoundly raw. A reality, courageous enough to breathe in the face of consequence.

We are all really just mere consequences of the situations that surround us because generally its assumed that in the bigger, more wider analysis of life, one thing eventually leads to the next. But what if that is not how it is?  What if we are all just distinct pieces, bound to stick together, to complete each other?

Sculptured by wavering experiences, our existences are really just an unaltered work of fate. But there is always that space that continues to exist between certainty and possibility, that space that completely flips the whole picture around, that has the ability to define or demolish.

Relying on these fractured possibilities, we try to adjust into this story that does nothing to accommodate our presence. Compromising on what should really have been about us, we shape the stories of our loved ones, contributing more then we possibly can.

But how do you carry along a story in which you are nothing but a betraying imposter ?

What do you do when despite everything, you are really just that insignificant dot staining that otherwise flawless canvass of life ?

That is when you choose to break free, that is when you make a tentative attempt at a new beginning, without the fear of the empty ends holding you back. That is when you choose to manufacture your own story.

 

Glorious
Tentative