Mind is not good. It has never been a day that I could concentrate on my work. There were people all around, cherishing to get their good work done. But suddenly everything came to a standstill. The expectations to get something with a good mood ended up finding no real values.
I was a guy who relentlessly worked on to make a good day. But the truth is whim of the fate never gives us the energy. A man can be whatever they want, fate and his efforts give back full confidence to do that too. But it is his mind if that gets really tough to handle, that if the circumstances never let anyone to become good in the end.
I found that my story is not a lone story. Whatever I face these days as a rising aged man, life gave back to the fullest. There are endless opportunities in life to make. People come and go and they can never reach to a stage where fate will turn back. Miserliness is one thing. The whim of fate is another.
But despite the mood is bad, despite everything that still counts for a person is left behind, when even dear ones go away from the thresholds of affection, there are duties a man has to carry on. Nobody can move away from fate that they carry on. Even if you are downhearted and lost all the power and the will, you still could adjust to set sail for a longer miles in life.
I passed a lot of time in the open corridor of a parkside building. There used to be a crowd of people who used to settle in there. In everuy afternoon people from all the nearside district came around and was in the feat of finding something better. Breezes were sweet and the tender weather which is fortunately something that gives new hope to continue.
There I saw a woman who was sitting by and hoping to meet with her lost husband. It was the time of an autumn when they last saw each other and that never was the day of last meeting to her. It seemed as that they were separated for a time, but the tale of the fate was each day she felt that she might get closer to him, meeting again.
But that hope of "meeting again" continued for 5 consecutive years. She came at least every afternoon a week and there were lonely autumn, the drowsy rainy days and the horrific heat at the summer noons. Birds were chirping on and quite a heavy breeze was taking everything around from him. Except one thing. The good hope of watching him again.
Love has an irony to speak. It never remains in the time when we need it but stays strong when the demand can make us so. We go deeper in forgetting it, bur we never reach to the end with whatever possession that we have get going. Love is not stagnant as a reservoir, but it continues from time to time.
From story to story, until reaching to another day, meeting with the future that the loved ones never return in the same place, but every time in the dreams.
Thanks for the read.
