We pinned our hopes on an opportunity, to redeem ourselves of a lacklustre professional existence
Tinsel town waited, and all this while we dreamt that it would embrace us, its imperfections and all.
But the universe works in strange ways... it was not to be.
Being a place we both believed we would be happy... it was not to be.
What is to be, then?
Is it about accepting the pains that sear through us like hot metal...
Is it about finding our peace in the storm that our professional lives have been?
When does one know that one has achieved something brilliant...
When does it happen that you feel you have gotten somewhere?
Why is it that that feeling evades us, like men avoid the plague...
Why is it that I feel a deadening stillness in our lives, suddenly...
Were we getting used to chaos, and suddenly miss its exhilarating lack of stillness?
Or are we simply looking for happiness in the wrong places?
Have our troubles blinded us to what is good, true and real?
Can we forgive ourselves for our mistakes...
And love ourselves for our place under the sun?
