Death won't come to you holding it's hands up high and waiting for you to fall in love with the dismayed tragedies of half fallen lover still writing poems for their dead love which never lived. I am in the worst bar drinking the cheap wine hoping to die but all I could manage was to drink again. Moreover I thought about the dying world in which my existence matters only after I dies with it.
What is the cost of living?
It depends on one's tragedies that has been lived while lying about their existence, always hoping for the truth. But you forget that you lied and you say, lie till you no longer realise the truth. You ended up making stories for the truth with no heroes but a reminder assuring for your hope and blaming someone. Because it was never meant to be yours life story the way you thought.
While someone on the edge of death bed praying for life. Breathes sucking out of him making his veins empty. Strange world we live in, I wondered, hoping for the person to rewrite his story with precision this time detailing every mistake and blaming the storyteller each time while editing the story. While he must be busy taking someone with him who didn't call upon him yet but the world thinks the man must be ready for giving a reliable reason to what happened while he existed with the time.
And believe me, death won't delays when your story is about to begin. I am yet to end.
