On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams: For a while or Forever?

For a while, I have been away. For a while, I was happy, one because I did something that gave me joy, two because I was with someone who made me happy. But when realisation dawns upon you that one, you can't really always do what you want to or what makes you happy, and two, that being so emotionally dependent on people kills only you in the end, I realise I am back where I started. It would be unfair to say that all of this was an illusion because for a while, yes I was really happy. But now, I am back to Ground Zero. It's like living a fairytale life. Except that this fairytale anticlimaxes and instead of the "And she lived happily after", it's "And she struggles still..."

I am doing something, that I don't really really like. The only reason I have done well at it for so long is because, the methodology involved in the field, is more or less similar to the way I live my life. In a way, it comes sort of naturally. But the core of me is made up of entirely different stuff. I don't percieve myself as being intelligent. I am an average brain. Only, I work hard. I would rather be playing with colours, or with words. Because thats what makes me feel alive. Art. To be able to percieve the depth of a poem and yet still not drink completely its sweetness. To be able to mould beauty from words, from colours, from clay and breathe into them immortality.

Or again, maybe this is just another illusion I have. All my life, I have been living on shadows, of my mind. Armed with these illusions, I have committed the sin of being vain. Of being over-confident of myself and of my judgement. And this is the price I pay. Of not being able to ease my pain. Of not being able to wallow out of confusion and misery. Of falling down slowly, step by step. Of being a failure. Of being a loser. I have fought imaginary battles that have sucked my energy of me. I am a rebel without a cause. Is it really so or that my cause is un-identified? I have been running forever. From this cause, from myself, from hardships, from people who loved me. So much so that all my strength is lost and I am exhausted. I want to give up. On everything seen and unseen.

I walk along the boulevard of broken dreams among their pieces, ashes of burnt ideals and that naked, stark stranger called- REALITY whom I see scurrying away at the far end of the boulevard. The ideals have burned in the fires of frustration, yet as I feel their ashes with my fingers, they come alive in my soul. Even as I weep tears of futility, I take care not to let them dissolve the ashes. They are my only strength, my only support in this alien world.

They say, "move on, thats what life is all about." But I wonder now, what I should move on to when there is nothing left anymore. Each breath, each step is so painful. My head aches with exhaustion. It's as if every nerve in my brain is bursting at its ends.

I wish there'd be a hero to come and save me. Though I know, the only hero who will save the show is no one but me. Myself.