Pieces of everything

The easy start to march on the philosophical world is to question self existence, it's meaning and the purpose. I have read in many philosophical novels, stories and other literatures. I also read once somewhere that writers are the outcome of their suffering, loneliness, sadness, pain or so. Sometimes i fear when i look at the mirror. I fear if, what i once read, would apply to me. Then i stare at the infinity with tired eyes, without any fixed destination to fix my eyes upon. It is then the electric shock originates in my mind and makes its way to the feet.

Things were said. Things are said. It will continue like that. I have no right to blame anyone (not even myself) for the way everything flows. I sit restlessly, but with no power to move, on a chair watching my own life at the screen. I have a hunger to edit the clips, reverse it back, slow it down and even cut-out. But the distance between the screen and my hand is just too long for me to reach. And there I sit helplessly smiling faintly watching my own life in black and white screen.You are always a sure thing for me. What actually could be the underlying meaning? They say - sentences are the creations of our mood. Even the creator would find it difficult justifying later at some point because the graph of mood shift is rather discontinuous. I remember aiming marble from different angles when trying to take a marble of my friend's during my childhood. Each time, my mind generated impulses that had different intentions. And the consequence a different view-point and a different angle. Do words originate in the same way somewhere in our cerebral half?

I tremble at the thought of something unknown, something that is yet to happen. And i raise up my hands in air in a hope to be rescued by someone. The electric shock doesn't last long, and its pain is not difficult to bear. But the real thing starts after the electric shock vanishes. It again boosts up my energy level, and i set-out on the endless journey again with the same story and the same questions. This trend is persisting. Like migraine, it haunts me back at regular intervals. This thing would never end so long i continue to breathe, so long i keep moving on and so long ''You are always a sure thing for me'' remains in my memory. I keep raising my hands in air in a hope to be seen by someone one day, and be rescued...