in an incorrigible zest to console mieself... at a point in time, when even the 'chatters to the self' resonates dumb worth...
the hapless romantic always die the death of wasps -- lonely and burnt unaware, irresponsibly fleeing away from himself as each and every moment passes away...
in an idiotic quest of putting up a bright face, a smiling gesture and the moron doesn't even understand
that the onlookers do have the slightest of intellect to catch he's faking it... Alas! They never know what he is faking...
just as the most chivalrous is never found to be the most gentleman,
just as the afraid is often mistaken to be the coward,
just as the friendliest is most likely to get back-stabbed...
the bugger who is the best company one may have might not even get a true companion for himself...
why are the threads so boastful and yet so weak that calls for voiding a love for another?
countless days, countless nights, time moves on the wings of a burnt butterfly...
the idiot dies the idiocy doesn't.
the love lives on, only the lover ceases to exist...
[Photo Courtesy - weeel via Flicker]
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