Despite.

The way  I walk, I could be walking into the past. If space were time i.e. If you could alter a few dimensions, a lot else would alter themselves. Relative becomes absolute. And absolute becomes relative again. The two keep swapping each other at such fast rates, you wouldn't know which is which. And get lost in a chaotic peace. But you're getting none of this anyway. That is the charm. That is the curse.

Life lives itself off in its if's and then's. But ultimately it survives the despite's. Sometimes that it goes on, and on despite all the despite's is the utter shock. The realization that you're still alive even when all your hopes and dreams and decaying down in the gutter somewhere, is the shock, the ugliest worst possibility. And yet, that is the beauty. And in a very ironic way, that only is the beauty. The resilience of survival, keeps proving itself again and again. Hence, I write this. Hence, you read this. And despite everything that is, we are. Not alive though, yet alive.

The way I walk, on rainy nights, all alone, opposite the traffic, with lights blinding vision, I could be walking into the past. Or the future. But the past is a hopeful illusion now, and the future, a fake promise. All that is, is thus the present. And I am stuck in it. Going nowhere, walking into nothing. Stuck, like paralyzed would be. The grey clouds, full of rain for many days to come, try to scare me away.

What they don't realize is that I am incapable of fear. I am incapable of any feeling, whatsoever. I know, the grey clouds, cage my stolen lover, my dreams, all I had. And left me impoverished. This way. But I am, despite.