That Bitter Reality.


I was standing in the nicely carved classy window of my voguish room, gazing at the soaring and munificent sky above. I always stand here to absorb this exceptionally snooty feeling of being special, inimitable and certainly matchless. When I get a glance of all those “ordinary” creatures drifting on the road below, I feel even more exceptional. Son of an exceedingly affluent family, born with a silver spoon in mouth had to have such conviction, I would construe.

Then time flew away like a hastening bird, taking me from flamboyant youth to the aged epoch of my life. It is now, I would reckon, I am lonesome. I am derelict. I am overlooked. All that charisma once I had, in my past is mislaid. Lying on this aged, scratched couch placed in my vacant common room, I could even count my heart beats in this stinging hour of forlorn. I could feel the rushing blood in my blue veins visible beneath a coarse, wrinkled cover of my old skin.

It is in this very moment, I deemed all that I had in forsaken past was simply fictitious. Deep from my soul I could hear an echoing voice saying manifestly,” Oh poor soul! It was you, who was ‘ordinary.’ Who was common. Who was average. So, how miserable now it is, being abandoned. Being deserted.”


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