The world will break your heart ten ways to Sunday, that's
guaranteed. And I can't begin to explain that...Or the craziness inside myself
and everybody else, but guess what? Sunday is my favorite day again. I think of
everything everyone did for me and I feel like... a very lucky guy.
No I haven’t written those, and yes I there is a huge
possibility of the response “you don’t even know the real issue here”. A
thought that would originate in your mind, in those nasty little grey cells - blinding
the obvious, presenting the camouflaged reality and you believe what you see!!,
but to be felt - as if it is your heart saying it. Well you cannot tame the
heart forever dear grey cells, and realization shall eventually befall you and then
perhaps…
I have actually lost the track, I had something in mind to write
and elaborate but even the fragments of those thoughts elude me. My psyche is
mocking my sober-self, my sober self claims my trippy self is an idiot, vicious
events. The notion of love makes me
trippy, and hangover is terrible, agonizing, and painful. Bourbon is better
indeed, especially with you sitting across.
I am really confused and in fact I am quite sure many more are
struggling with the similar commotion. Do you want me to be with you or you
wish otherwise? And just in case you nibbled the question “What do YOU!! want?”
the answer is “I want you and I want, not just Sunday to be your favorite day
but everyday to be that day”.
All the best you are better off without me, saves you from moral
opprobrium. My final gift to you – peace of mind.
Start loving Sunday.
