“If life was a book, you’d be my favourite page.”

I’m tired. Maybe we all are. At some point in life, there comes a time when our worlds seem to come to a sudden halt. Maybe we’re tired of living a life as we do. Maybe we are tired of being the person we are, or who people think we are. Maybe we simply exist in this world, dragging our bodies, ignoring our souls.
But of all this, the worst part is, we’re confused. We don’t know where we are heading to, without a single clue about the future, and what it holds. We are merely puppets in the hands of a Player, one who has already destined and measured the steps we take. On some days, the world is a beautiful place, and on others, a vast piece of nothingness. The gloomy days are certainly bad, but the brighter ones are worse, for they carry along with them, the fear of an empty tomorrow, a tomorrow that promises absolutely nothing.
The funniest part is, we don’t stop living, not even for a moment or two. We regret our decisions, repent our mistakes, look back and shed tears, but never ever do we cease believing in life, and its mysteries. Everything fits into a jumbled puzzle, never solved completely. In all our attempts to understand the significance of events, we fail miserably. Yet we clutch onto something we call hope. Such fools we are, placing our faith on something that doesn’t exist, and maybe never will.
Maybe, just maybe, we are comprehending it all wrong. Maybe life itself is a delusion, or a frightening nightmare, and everything else, everything, is just a part of the Greater Plan; a game which we all are a part of, a war which exists within each one of us. At the end, it all comes down to that; a void, in which we wish to swim, but end up drowning. No matter how much we struggle, we suffocate. If we are lucky, we have a helping hand that rescues. If we are not, we die. Such deaths happen almost every other day; deaths encuraging rebirth. We die a thousand times in our lifetime, and each time, we come out stronger, and maybe, darker. The darkness protects us, the light blinding. Paradox becomes our best friend, and irony our soulmate. The monsters within, never leaving us, take their grip firmly. We are left wondering, what if I didn’t exist anymore? Will it make a difference? Will the world mourn?
We are tired of being lonely. We are tired of being different. We are tired of pretending. We are tired of being bad. We are tired of being good. We are tired of facing the world. We are tired of being angry. We are tired of being happy. We are tired of losing ourselves. We are tired of being oursleves. We are tired, just plain tired. And maybe, someday, when we are tired of being tired, the world ceases to be, and the colours of the rainbow change into one, the colour of the night.


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