isnt it a pity
when life is a speeding car that go just forward along a never bending line?
when feeling safely on the leather seat
held back by the seating belt
when you hesitate though greedily behold
as it dashes turning into intermittent lines
when you sweat and are not bold enough
to let your arms out of the window and grab something from out there
you have passed it
you have missed it
you have lost it
but what is graspable?
moments gone
shimmering images lost in pure darkness
excitement and intrigues vaporise into nothingness
intangible memories
funnily unrealiable
or is it imagination
of an old man sitting in shade pondering at ever-moving, ever-changing clouds
fragile brain waves stored as consumable electricity
consumed then
irretrievable
people come and people go
if you dont grasp they would go
into that direction not your road
potential friends sadly potential
potential tacts and skills and jobs and blahblahblah
aspirations?
potential is derogatory
because it means
no relevance and real participation.
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