It occurs to you out of the blue, when you are submerged in silence in the middle of a night, right when the owls fell into sleep, as the moon fade beneath a dark cloud. It starts along a feeble line with no rhyme, but it has to be painful. Not the mildest tingle you feel as you write a romantic piece about her memories. It's not the awe filled anguish as you write an ode, or the burn of the kindled passion as you inscribe a ballad. No, it's not the torment of an elegy, or the twinge of a sonnet. It is the crucifying pain at the bottom of the heart, deep rooted somewhere in the hinterlands. It soars up to your throat to become a lump. The surge of raw emotions may even fill your eyes, but you won't say a word. Nothing would describe it, no one could see it, still the intensity will eat your sleep. It occurs to you when all the shadows repressed in an abyss breathe out. All the dusky dreams, ghosts of unmet fancies, humiliations, deceptions, pretentions, prejudices, regrets and guilt. It needs a way out, years of solitude has made it restless. Your metaphors won't suffice to sketch something that equates to it's torture. Allegories and parables won't paint hues on it's agony, alliterations and assonances will not make it euphonious, it won't fall like a nursery rhyme. Yes, it'll have ironies, plethora of ironies. That alone won't make it a good poem You can't imprison that lines in meter, it will not soothe you with rhymes, it doesn't dance in a rhythm. Yes, it's not your usual poem, it's the worst one you'll ever see.
In the name of vanity, you throw all caution to the wind and happily feast on poisoned apples even if you know there's no such thing as free lunch.
The mirror is a liar with a poker face. You don't see what's coming your way because your bangs is in the line of your sight. But it doesn't bother you at all because you think you look and feel great with it. You've been told more than a dozen times that there's a danger in trusting somebody a little bit too much, but on the night it rained flattery, you were wide awake holding a pail and a bucket. Flattery is your Achilles heel. When it falls on your lap, every ounce of common sense left in your pockets flies out of the window faster than a scared Sparrow.
You say you'll just cross the bridge when you get there. But what if it's a hanging bridge and you have an awful fear of heights? What if there's no bridge? What if it's not a bridge but a zip line? What if it's a dead-end? What if it's a trap? What if it's a scam?
Too much appetite slash hunger for validation may not kill you yet it doesn't mean that you can ignore warning bells the way you ignore traffic lights. It's human nature, you say. Your life, your rules? To each his own? Well, maybe but here's the bad news. Regret is a traitor that will kiss you in the end. Enjoy the flattery but never get carried away.