A Letter To Self

The path of a pride-filled man is paved with good intentions. He is widely admired – ears and eyes glued to his feet – yet, his presence is never once called into question. He is, after all, the man – the trooper, leading the way for those to follow.

Yet, my job remains a means to an unwritten end. And, as I walk the path of comfort to nowhere, I’m reminded of its perks. The financial freedom to recharge, abroad. The vague promises of future investments, and the comfort: yay, at least I’m employed.

Home, well, that remains an incoherent story with very little dialogue. Each character strives, in doubt of the fundamental rule of acting. It’s just a shame, as there is no one to blame and well, I’m without a choice, this is my stage.

A pride-filled man – satisfied through his failure to recognise himself. Tied to the fruits of his labour – a bright, peaceful tomorrow wherein today is a thing of the past. Yet, up for debate hangs the purpose of it all.


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