My struggling phase was suicidal...
The slings of tussles herald a battle to witness my death. My intellect was lacking sentience. I felt the analogy of life was purely out of my life.
I dare to take a leap before I step back from the prodigal step. Enlightenment sounded light years away for me. I was galaxies apart to dream about success. I was a broken reed in fact termed a tumbleweed. Just like a falling star from the sky.
Out of the blue, my blissful memories begin to shackle “those” feelings... I stand barefoot to identify myself.
With throbbing heart and subtle words, I take a U-turn. “Desire” sits in my head while “Passion” holds my hands.
With butterflies in my stomach, I walk the path of writing.
I see my soul blossom in the writing field. I Sow my writing seeds right where the grass is green.
I realized that my struggles were out of ignorance not by arrogance. I observed and experienced struggles to discover my forte.
I understood that my failures wanted to celebrate when I die. That moment… I held my soul in my fist in rage to challenge the flaws.
Guess what? Here I am, writing my story to tell you that I am still alive. I create my own argot style of writing to pay a tribute to all my struggles.
Any more surprises you wish to your struggles?