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Writings > Short Story > Autobiography

Understanding an Understatement

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As the sun fades, I hoped for the heat to give way, better still go away, yet it remained still, I give into sweet cold drinks, they provide the shortest amount of relief, immediately I was angered with this ill fate, like what life has taught, accept and take it in, withstand the pain for your solution lingers in disdain.

 

After some minutes the heat didn’t seem to be steadfast in torture, I was surprised as to how strongly and committed I felt about my feelings in regards to the heat and now that the heat wasn’t to be felt as much. I was relieved and I began to even feel sleepy. At the same time I was troubled as to how I felt so strongly as if nothing else mattered but the agitating heat I felt—contributed by the surrounding or the weather. Perhaps I should’ve just took a more nonchalant attitude and not be bothered so much. Why was I so bothered when if I wasn’t bothered it wouldn’t have been so bothersome and now I am angry at myself and that is bothersome.

 

The uncertainty of what tomorrow brings and the threat that it might bring about idleness that brings about darkness and causes the brain to come to a halt and drowns one back into abyss of negativity is surely burdensome to the mind and keeps it busy with a pungent scent of paranoia.

 

 

I also worry about the well being of my plants and trees. Not that I care for them too much, I wish to see them blossom healthily with bright leaves and bear sweet flowers and fruits. I don’t know if I am just being selfish.

 

The darkness of night always majestically taunting, the darkness of night always mesmerizing, the darkness is feared because so little is to be known of it, darkness is revered for the comfort it brings. So little is known of it, what can I expect to know from a black space, just when I close my eyes all that I could see is a black wide space. Though when it is closed the mind then plays this game of confusing one and tricking one into dreams that once again appears significant and realistic, as if it matters. In the end I open my eyes due to the sound of the clock only to realize the life I was so passionate about was nothing but a specter of a dream. This life too will end with me opening my eyes to the light.

 

I can once again feel the heat returning, the music as soothing as it sounds is not helping, my face appears to be frowning. I don’t know if I can take this feeling nonchalantly.

 

When my memories go back to the time I was shaped, when my memories go back to when I was a kid, I notice how it was molded and shaped. It was inevitable this fate, though all my thoughts could muster up is unfortunate.

 

I keep on fretting yet I know I could know of nothing, I keep on worrying, though it might seem like it amounts to nothing, yet worrying keep things flowing. Most of the time it’s just trying and tiring.

It is getting too heated, my body seems like it’s being mistreated, the soul feels like it’s being violated,  it feels like being boiled on the stove where the fire is at its slowest. *goes to shower* Now that I am back from the shower, I feel so much at ease, I feel sleepy once again.

 

I am the only person who understands myself, yet I understand myself so poorly.

 

 

 

Previous short story:
Humming the Hums of Humility
Next short story:
Coffee
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about the writer

Alam

Often seen as cold, bitter and distant but in reality is cool, sweet and not very distant..haha Sometimes I feel like saying what Kierkegaard said, People understand me so poorly that they even dont understand my complain about them not understanding me. On the other hand often I assume of understanding people completely...so i guess its a given or an irony or something else..depends on how you see it..
Alam_Shah | Add Alam_Shah as friend | Send message to Alam_Shah

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