Summers have me hoping for rain, hell, even monsoons did. But that’s not the point. While I was busy hoping, a sudden surge of uneasiness crept in, distracting me from the moment. My heart holds volumes of past trials and trauma like the ash gray sky not willing to release.

There are events beyond our control, that’s where hope kicks in, like cocaïne. Run amok, maybe? The highs are heavenly but lows are catastrophic; The Eutopia, the paronia followed by self pity, the anger and irritability. It’s like walking in the crowd without a mask on. Even with the mask, you can only hope you don’t catch Covid 19.
The virus isn’t alone. No surprise. It’s entire fucking family is out to get us ! Dora, the explorer might’ve caught a new variant, I suspect. She never sits in one place.

But you can’t sit in there forever, can you? Oh yeah, maybe on your funeral pyre.You can’t abandon hope either. Right? Wrong. I hope I hope not.

In collaboration with Naw-ah-zish

25 thoughts on “Variants”

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