Its 3:15 a.m. and my mind is replete with thoughts. I am not going to propound new theories, just giving agency to something that we all know about, and have been forced to face innumerable times. I found myself scribbling...
Living it up in reality seemed far-fetched from all that had been conceived in her psyche for so long. The idea of truth fades as the real and illusion merge into one. It reminds me of the Buddha’s famous lines “Life is an illusion”. Guised under the favoring appearance are the multitudes that escape our gaze, for most of us suffer from the disease of selective sight. We see what we choose to and believe what we want to, not being much concerned about the authenticity of the constructed truth. It never actually exists the way you think of it to be. I won’t pass on the blame over to naïveté for this is not the first time and even she is equally aware. Her cocoon was destroyed by the same hands that had seemed to have supported it. One incident has always been enough to make it disappear into smoke. How many more murders would it take to sink it inside her head? As of now, dismay forces her to pause for sometime and then soon would start the making of a new cocoon, a construction that awaits yet another demolition. A few pair of hands this time as well would be same as earlier, echoing reassurance. I am not being preachy here, just questioning why was it hard to let go, even after being murdered many times by the same hands.
Enough attempts had been made in vying to incorporate all those traits that go in shaping of a Machiavellian, which would have otherwise helped her to smoothly sail through. She has a solution but unfortunately it is still beyond her access He is a true Machiavellian though, on being asked he had once said “No…I don’t make friends”. Appalled as she was, for she had grown up seeing him to be really popular, surrounded by friends, who were they then? Nevertheless he was the happiest person that she ever knew of. I ask her why it was hard to come to terms with the reality. She doesn’t respond this time, but I perceive some movement, little mechanical though…a new construction has begun…ensuring that it is unassailable this time...
