Theme: Like a Moth to A Flame....

The waves gently licked the sands for the most part of the night, as I sat under a palm on the side of the beach house I’d managed to afford from a single months’ worth of royalty from my album.

Things just aren’t the same anymore, don’t need to be chasing dreams or trying to find ways of getting ahead. It’s a relaxed life, money, women, scotch…

It’s careless how the moon wastes it’s moonlight on the sea, it’s just for the shine I tell you, coz there’s still pure darkness even 1 inch below the surface. Sometimes I feel that’s the way she felt too…like she was wasting her moonlight on me…I guess she never really realized how bad an idea I really was.

Back in the day, life was simple, no one really knew what was going on, I guess we were standing too close to each other to see anything beyond the 4 hour phone-calls, the hours of sweaty hand-holding, the cute plans and promises to be in love forever and ever and ever and the silly love songs…ha…the love songs drive you mad, don’t they? The real truth, Mr Skynard, is that two steps behind is where you end up just eating dirt.

I love it though, when somebody says, we’ve been through a lot together, it’s a sort of validation for me, a suggestion that we have a strong history and it used to make me feel secure, but it turns out…it’s purely situational and rather conditional. It covers small things like not calling everyday and forgetting to message saying I miss you and all but it never means I’ll forgive you for the mistake you made.

I wonder if I can still talk to her father though. We used to talk about everything under the sun and the Sun itself, stocks, cars, markets, medicine, relations…yeah relatives and relations. He once said that relations where like the fruit of a tree you tree…and society was like a forest, everytime you meet someone their branches join yours to some extent and similarly if you don’t like the fruit…people just cut off your branch. I miss real conversation.

Conversation is hard to make these days, mostly coz it’s not real conversation if you’re having to go around making it. It becomes more of an exchange of words and sharing of silent smiles rather than the exchange of smiles and sharing of hearts…I wonder how that works when you’re lying though.

But that’s how it falls out at the end of the day…Everyone scurrying around trying to find their spot in the sun…like moths to a flame…Lies, Betrayal, ditching a fellow, fooling a friend, tying your own noose, climbing a staircase of guilt…it’s a long way to the top and the top is nothing but a pillar of pseudo-conquest from which all you want to do is jump blindfolded. But there’s no cushion of sympathy where you land…well let me just say…there’s a beach house and a palm tree where the waves gently lick the sands…for most part of the night.

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