Can I confess?

Can I confess, asked the mind contemplating the thoughts that evade reality. The words felt heavy, the screams louder, but there was silence all along. Why do the words evade this reality? Why is it so afraid of the light of the day? Why do they find comfort in the privy of the night, lurking in the shadows, screaming yet silent? Why not let the heart ease its pain, by letting go? The turmoil and the vigor that they hold settling in the mind with a spectacular view of the life that goes by. Life, ah paradigm of reality.

A dilemma surrounded the epiphany. And when asked about things that matter : Confusion. Fear. Ego. Desertion. "The weather is nice today, isn't it?" Evasion. Why? The insecurities haunt the monotony of revelation. The aftermath seems catastrophic, a word of which is like a domino in precise perfect position that could snowball down the slope, never to be recovered. Let go of things, they said. That is when the diary saw the fluorescent light of the night, warming up the pages with tears that hugged the words dearly, a solace in disguise, freedom to the caged bird. But let me take a shot : Love and Life !

Love ? You asked me a thousand times; I just evaded the answer. What is love but a coalition of two minds, two hearts beating in unison. No, I have never loved. I have never wanted to love. I kept that part of the heart blocked away, hidden so deep that I have lost it altogether. "So, whom do you love?" Your question resonated in my mind. "No one," I said. "I haven't found the right one," I said. You thought I lied. But, I did tell the truth. For love was something so far away for me, I never contemplated its presence around me. To be fair, I never deserved the love to love. I kept my promise to self.

"What do you want to do ? Where do you see yourself in 5 years?" A question that haunted a few nights. You might have heard something climbing up the ladder, this place, that place. I had articulated a well rehearsed story, however different to each person. I lied. In my constant contemplations and searching for the answer, I have crossed a few five years and the result was not what I had expected. What did I expect? If I could articulate it in a word: nothing. If I could say it in an essay, it is still nothing. But if you insist, all I see is a limbo of darkness, a paradoxical emptiness, an abyss breathless.

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This is written for #BlogChatter Prompt of the Week : Can I confess?

PS : Can I confess? I guess, I can't.

PPS: Thanks to IQ for editing and a brilliant comment. Forever in debt! :)