Realist

I am fed up of being all positive and hopeful and happy. You know what? I am dark, twisted and a masochist. I have never seen anything white in my life. My eyes have always spotted the specks of colouring even on a spotless whit cloth. I don’t what anything to be sunshine and happy or even rainy and romantic. I want dark and restless and thunderous and cyclonic. I am fed up of looking for the silver lining on every dark cloud. I know it’s not a silver lining but the lightening which echoes the promise of further despair. I am not a cynic but a realist. Life can be all dreamy and cloudy for a few seconds, minutes, hours or days or months. But it all comes to an end. Everything does. One day reality just shows up as the unwanted and unexpected guest and resides in your house without any shame. It can make you feel like an outsider in your own home.

Why do people still believe in that life can be better and will be better? It’s like believing the spoon-fed notion of Santa Claus as a happy-and-generous figure. I would like to believe otherwise, that is Santa Claus as a pervert-and-twisted figure who lures into houses and bedrooms at night to do God-knows-what.

So, I would like to officially put an end to my days of misery when I truly believed that something good will happen in my life. I can’t take the pressure anymore. This life is easier and more real than the one I led. If I continue to live the previous kind of life then I am much more of a loser than I ever thought myself to be.