Countless magical sunsets I have missed since I fell into this hollow, black hole.
And I keep digging with so much determination…
The farther I creep from the surface, the safer it feels…whether this safety is really safe I keep wondering and the thought of ever reaching a solid end I keep pondering.
But I just sweep more soil and weep fewer tears.
For with every inch deeper, a feeling of mine expires, the caring, the confidence, the affection, the passion, the glee, the misery…one by one they all demise.
But I keep digging.
And with every dear death, I lose a friend’s esteem, a parent’s trust, a lover’s affection…
And with every sun set, the light feels weaker, the air mustier, the earth harder…
But I keep digging.
May be someday, when my nails would be all dirty with soil,
when my hands would feel weary and helpless,
when the sun’s light gives up on me,
when the air starts suffocating me,
and when all hope of a solid end fades away,
may be just then will I find the will to stop.
And if then I started to climb, would I find on my way the self that I have lost? Would I regain, with every inch higher, the caring friend, the trusting parent, the affectionate lover? Or would it just be too late?
I guess I’ll just keep on digging…