Clutterd Clarity.

Why do those who claim to be strong need something to hold on to? Why do we get insecure about those we love? Why do we question another's happiness just because we aren't a part of it or had no role to play in it? Why is a new friend considered an intruder sometimes? Why is it essential to make claims of your love? Why do we make sure the world knows what we think of when it does not really matter? Why do we judge someone at first sight? Why should every relation have a name attached to it? Why is something we do not agree with termed as wrong? Why do we get jealous when we see new friendship blossom? Why does it annoy when phone calls go unreturned? Why is it essential for your gift to be the best another's received? Why do we compete to be important to someone? Why is so difficult to let go? Why is another's freedom a choice we think is alright for us to make? Why do we hold hands regardless of whether they want to be set free? Why do we have to fix things that don't need to be mended? Why can't we let solitude to be relished? Why are simple pleasures considered madness? Why is a hug sometimes like a noose that strangles? How can words be framed to deliberately cause pain? Why is it hard to accept the love is not ours? How can it be simple to sing a stolen song? Why can't we break free? From the heart that blinds us. From the mind that refuses to be silent? From those who hurt us. From those who hate us. From those you can cannot forgive nor forge. From the love that was stolen. From the friend who departed. From those who tamper with our dreams? From those who laugh at our beliefs. From those who hugged and stabbed. From those who loved and forgot.

Living by myself made me question things I took for granted. I never knew that sometimes, you need to hold on tight else it slips away. You will be left looking at the drifting sand from the gaps of your fist. You think everything is going fine when it was just the calm before the storm. You think everyone's simple and honest when they could be prodding all along. It dawns on you that you are a bad judge of people. Nothing can be accepted for being what it is. Like the truth sometimes, everything is layered. Every peel you tear, unfolds a new tale. Clarity is like a muffled drum. When the chaos subsides, the low hum resounds. The cluttered cobweb of thoughts may block the sunshine. Happiness seems to be like a bubble waiting to burst.

Can we swim ashore away from these questions? Is there anyone who can answer them? Is life really as simple or complicated as you make it to be?