I continue to search tirelessly through the rubble of my being, peeping eagerly through the cracks of my broken heart, and paging anxiously through memories and wishes.
But in the paralyses of my senses I cannot seem to find any garment of hope to wear, because everywhere I go thinking hope were there, I only find dead hope, pealing off the walls like dry paint.
Every tree I stand under is of dry branches, hope has fallen off with the leaves sneaking under my heels, the crisp sound of flaking hopelessness, to the descend of my every footstep.
Every person with whom I converse tells me that Iooze with negative energy, but who can blame me?
When, in my quest at every corner I have met only with hopelessness.
But they do try to encourage me, to have a more positive outlook of my troubles and woes, to claim them and use them as steppingstones, towards a less gloomier attitude.
But my kind of troubles and woes are only steppingstones, in a downward staircase leading towards an ally in a dark abyss.
They say that love is a drug, and that heartbreak is your body in withdrawal.
But you see, what they do not know is that:
Gave my heart a break,
From all the heartache,
My heart paid;
When I placed my heart
In the hands of a foul-mate,
That I awfully mistook
For a soul-mate.
So, “where is the love”? You ask me!
In my journey of a hopeless miles, I have come ti the profound realisation that: love sought, is virtually love bought.
And as in any such transaction, the expectation of any merchant, is profit and a return on investment.
But love does not have a price-tag, it is not a good in a market place, it cannot be traded.
Rather, love is to be shared, to be given away freely.
So sprinkle it all aroun, until the natural order of God, punctuates it perfectly into your seemingly loveless story of your life.
And I promise you, like a boomerang, love will always find its way back to you.