I am not a man of the present. I am recurrently ripped into part of me that clinged to the lingering past and a bit of me that agonizes the imminent future; particularly when I am undergoing seconds consisting of our tryst. At times we consume together, half of my emotions possess the joy of being surrounded by your existence, and the other half survives the unforeseen blues of fearing that this may not last long as I would like. I am, once again, not a man of the present.Certain piece of me wants to remain in the existing contentment, but the other opposes it with thoughts traversing time and phases I never want to befriend.

And those harmful notions comprising ideas of what-ifs, the kind of harmful contemplation for a defenseless mind of mine. What if; there would be hundreds of places where you feel so much more unharmed more than this seat next to me?What if; there are bunches of human beings that ease you more than I am able to do? What if; there have been times you spent with one and all where—for even if just a momentary period—you felt safe and sound for my absence? What if; I am just sentimentally diffident that it would by and by perturb us?


Leave a Reply