Can I make a life out of me?
Can this life make me happy?
I sit down and count the many hours that struck me hard… the many moments that left me spell-bound… the many incidents that left me numb… the experiences that forced me to crawl back into a shell… and those that freed the bird in me…
What are the questions that I am not asking? What are the answers which are eluding me? Where do I go? Where do I travel? Is this supposed to be a journey? Or is this just a walk-through?
Am I to walk alone or to search for a company?
Are the trails going to lead me anywhere at all? Or will I just be lost somewhere again?
Is the purpose to lose myself? To shed all that binds me? To look beyond what I see?
What am I to do?
Do the questions ever end? Do the answers ever come?
What defines you? What defines me? What defines us?
Can the words, the thoughts, and our minds, ever know what is it that we are to be?
Each mind thinks its own… each face tells its story… each line leading somewhere…
Each life a thousand lives put together…
How do I define myself then?
How do we know who we are?
Is this search what we call life?
And is this life what we are searching for?
What do I do when I find it?
Will I find happiness too?
Will I cease to feel the pain… the doubts… the uncertainties… the questions?
Will I?
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