Polarity of Conflict

When a rather unusual event leaves a regretful mark on our actions, it becomes a part of our rationale. It isn’t about a single frame of event; it is relatively a sequenced exposure of our responsiveness. I guess that is what you call growth in terms of life. Experience, maturity, it doesn’t come to you without jumping into that well of horrors. Of breaking things, losing things, when you realize the fairy tale days are so over.  They never existed. Words of wisdom may be a bit more than we realized their count, but honestly, it doesn’t matter until you bang your own head into the girth.

Everyday, I see a dash of a young innocent soul dying in me. It is forbidden to carry it along as I cross my milestones. I often feel sorry for losing on that but it never hurts that much now. And that’s what I quote as my journey of unsuccessful paraphernalia. Wherein, the pain of regret ceases, potential of acceptance is at the crest and you learn to overlook your own despicable shadow.

Strange, how we easily wipe off those tears, even when we see small little pieces of our own self, broken and scattered. We seldom look back for those lost pieces. It’s just fine to live with a scratched and tampered disposition. Drawing those strings of reasoning to get the grip to steer around.

However, to each of those moments that gradually faded but commissioned a trait that was so new. Sure, I lost that wide-eyed speck but what I gained over the time has reasonable changed my discernments. Those broken shields in my soul became quirks that are going to live on till I probably lose myself entirely.

For now, I am unlike otherwise, really not on a journey to find myself. I guess I have found bits and pieces of my puzzle and I am quite busy putting them all together. Yet, the expedition hasn’t ended. I am still to figure out what nailed the wall with polarities of conflict that rule me singlehandedly. Unless I stop reminiscing the bittersweet times, the squabble shall explode.