Have you ever noticed the beauty of a tall, green tree against a dark, storm sky? The bright green over the deep grey has a peculiar beauty- terrible yet enthralling, ethereal and strange. It is the kind of beauty that nature creates by forcing two extremes of itself; the misfit providing the essence.
Of late, life has taken on such an aspect. A constant sense of melancholy from no particular source, obscured by sunny college life, friends' jokes and warm evenings at home. But the smiles are loaned, the happiness fake and shallow.
I don't know why or how, but I believe everyone reaches a point in life where things start to feel more mechanical than spontaneous. As if your life were borrowed from someone else's; as if you were intruding into someone's personal affairs, talking to her family and making merry with her friends. Its a sort of surrealistic feeling, perpetually living in two people's lives- one happy and the other, well, not-so-happy. And it puts you into a lot of stress.
You don't know which part of your heart to listen to. Do you, like you want for yourself, retreat into the haloed shelter of solitude? Or do you continue pretending to see the brightness just so the people around you can keep smiling? Its as if your view of the world, which was colourful, has suddenly been reprogrammed to grey-scale, but the vibrant colours overlap and mix with this perception. like a scarlet thread running through a brocade of sombre blues and greys.
What would you choose if you had to- the fickle, brilliantly green foliage or the seemingly solid melancholy clods?
Or do you blame the person who gave you this choice between life and life?
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