Recent events have made him wonder, that is he contented with the status quo? Or does he want to change it? He had lost himself in the fragility of the human life, gotten himself tangled up in the emotional web of humans. As he rocked in his pinewood chair by the fire, his thoughts went scrambling.
From the time he was mortal, to the day he met his Maker and obeyed the laws of nature no more. Time couldn’t touch him. They do not exist on the Fate’s spun web, where all living things are tied to each other, where a little tremble here will result in some broken ties in another part of the web, where the centre is unknown. Now he is a player instead of the chess pieces on the board.
“Or am I not?” he wondered alot, bemused. A glass of port in his hand, he slowly sniffed the drink. Not his favourite cup of tea, he would rather trade it for El Charro Reposado any time of the day. The fire had died down. leaving the red hot embers. As the room darkened to a low red glow, he thought of his past, the happiness that was before.
“Am I happy now? Or am I yearning?” For his heart aches sometimes on a lonely cold night, much like how one old person gets rheutmatism from the cold. Similarly, it cannot be cured.
A part of him feels like the other half is missing, torn from his body and thrown into the cold dark void, where he can never find it again. As the embers died, so did he began to nod off, his glass of port still in his hand. And his lids gently closed upon the windows of his soul, shutting off the rest of the world. And retreats into his world. And dreams.
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