Word Salad

Few are plagued with loss of memory, most are tormented by its existence.

Who can deny this cruelty of life where you can relive every terror of past, every heartbreak, every disappointment of your life, hundred times over where surely, once was enough.Yet not be able to feel the feeling of a warm embrace of a friend, of that sunrise which lightened your day, a goodbye kiss which brought on a smile that refused to leave.

In this race of pursuit for happiness, we seem to have not noticed that memory may be cumulative but joy is truly transitory. It is the time one lives without the concern of future and burden of past. I don't know what then is more futile, the pursuit to hold on to something so fragile or the relentless need to die a hundred small death over the regrets of pasts.

Caught in between the promise of future and realities of past, here I am, all alone again.