The boy was young. A face with no features, hidden tears and stolen smiles. Well versed in the art of getting by.
The boy was floating in a sea of answers with no obvious question. He knew the ways to go around a problem, arrive at the conclusion, but taking the final step, getting beyond the solution seemed jinxed.
There is a way particular to every life. There is an inherent subtlety to achieving greatness. And there is a method to madness.
He was mad. He was angry for so long he couldn’t remember when he was not. He wanted to vent it out, he believed he could. And he wished he did, for the fire within consumed the self, part by part, time by time. Looking for a savior, he was tired. He had to evolve, the self had to grow, the barriers needed to be broken, the distance remained to be traveled. Life as he knew it had to come to an end.
His heart was hindering his advances, he learnt to let it go. His visions were blinded by what could have been, he embraced the mistakes which were made. What might have been was a different story altogether, the truth was but a shadow of the real self.
Went into oblivion, he took a new self, a new name. The face remained, but with altered realities. That was the first step. The hidden pieces of the puzzle revealed as consequences of what could not be achieved.
He learnt to hide. For he knew to laugh when a smile seemed hard to come by. He stopped searching, for he realized his questions lay in the answers themselves. For every path chosen is a journey in itself. And the romance lies in the journey, the destination sans it, inconsequential.