Conundrum

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.