They all lay there in silent– doing what they ought to do; the paper clip, the notebook and the pen.
The wind, the river, the tree, and the grass– they do what they do best without a care in the world. The world doesn’t seem to care anyway.
I envy the inanimate and its immunity to feelings.
Life would have been simpler if I was a flower. No emotions, no responsibilities.
If I was a flower, all that is being asked is to be a quiescent pretty little flower. Nothing less, NOTHING more.
I am tired of this leviathan called life and I just want to be flower. Or anything that is numb of emotions or feelings.