Yesterday, the skies were dark, gloomy and moody with this near haunting ominous look. And for the first time, I hated it. I hated how sad it made the day look and how dark it made me feel. Like it bore the pain of the entire worlds anguished souls and it was just a slip away from tearing open and pouring all that out. It kind of made me sick. And i thought of the times i had looked up at that same sky and welcomed it like the visitor i had long been yearning for. I remember staring deep into those heavy curls of blackness and finding an almost poetic resemblance to my own insides. Turns out, that was just a sad illusion as today it reminds me of nothing but wasted years and everything i want to forget. I remember the rain being my muse. As it poured and washed away everything in its path, I’d draw my inspiration from its oblivious destruction of an otherwise peaceful ground. And the way the sun would struggle to get its rays out at the edges of the gathered clouds would often strike a bolt of genius to the words i had been seeking so long to find. Then everything would flow out in streams of hopelessness and misery, like a plague. Smooth and all at once
There was a sad love story on the TV later that night. The hero had to watch as his beloved was brutally slaughtered by a maniac wielding a hideous anchor-like weapon. I have no idea why it happened as i refused to be compelled to watch any further. Soon, however, curiosity overtook my right faculties and i found myself gaping at the same screen. I found the not-so-lucky hero stuck in hospital with a severe bout of amnesia to add to his misery. Normally, such misfortune would have intrigued me in inexplicable ways. Then I’d find imaginable means, albeit pathetic, to fit myself into that unfortunate pot. But today, it made my stomach turn. The way he dug into his pain and covered himself with the consequences did not evoke some spark of admiration from me, rather, something close to contempt as to how he deliberately buried himself in his pain. Refusing to get out. And since I was doing this ‘true to myself’ thing, i decided, to hell with depression and self inflicted grief.
I shall no longer find beauty in sadness and i will not be drawn by hurt. That twisted attraction that senses companionship in others’ misery shall no longer be a part of my writing. And darkness will not be my inspiration. I will write about flowers and beauty. Love and hope. The light will be in my metaphors, bright like the sun, or the heaven I’ve heard so much about. I will not create characters of doom; rather spread the message of bliss.
Then, at the end of this new path I’ve chosen, maybe a bounty of happiness awaits me. Maybe there will be a destiny after all. And if i find nothing but the emptiness i forsook, then let the world learn from my stories. And let everyone understand why i did this.
I think I’ll do this.
I want to.
But, fuck, i wanted to be a pilot yesterday.