Sometimes we make each other laugh. Other times we make them cry. Sometimes we don’t even laugh or cry, we just live the life. And there may not seem to be anything to laugh or cry about; you just stare and keep a silence but not sad. And they ask you. And you have nothing to tell except that you don’t even understand yourself either.
Sometimes the dream will tarry. And the tiniest of hope you possess betrays. And you wonder what on earth you were thinking. You curse the step to start believing was taken. But little do we know that why some things stay longer than expected to unfold is because every fruit has a season for maturation; then attraction.
Sometimes you dare a purpose, so promising initially; suddenly you are caught in the middle of indecisiveness. Before now you had it all figured out. ‘What went wrong? What did I not do? What was my fault? Questions with barren answers cloud the space of complaint, but little do we know that when purpose is not known, anything is a guess of right.
Sometimes we sacrifice our moments of being happy just to see them smile. And in return get the blames for not making them laugh. Then we are challenged and wounded. But little do we perceive that love can bring a lamb out of every lion. That love can change anybody.
Sometimes we pose with the measured gift of rose that we grow but little do we conceive in our hearts that if the gift can make a room, the attitude can bring it down.
Sometimes we are fulfilled with the little accomplished and signal the waiter for retirement. O how I wish to tell him that when dreams die, alternatives come to play. And they are satisfied with the crumbs, and grope in dark places.
If you are reading this or paying attention, it is necessary to understand that you might just be the only book some folks will have to read throughout their entire life.