The streaks of cotton candy pink searing through the dirty blue overcast makes me sceptical of the looming future. Disturbed by the false realities, we are subjected to othering –  the romanticised idea of the foreign which makes it easier to dismiss fellowmen as lessers; Less human and less worthy of respect. Some nights I question myself; is anyone worthy of alienation? All that is left would be a broken heart, not even grief can salvage. Most nights I question, my existence, more than anything else in the world. Is love or death the chance for re-integration?


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s