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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