Emptyness

I have always felt insufficiency, imperfection and dissatisfaction through every encounter. A human that always seem lonesome among huddle, neither he has any reason toward the antithesis he lives. Perhaps he sows that the only whim. He desires difference ― he thinks, listens and somehow speaks differently. Surprisingly, he is not different, he tries things differently. He surreptitiously try to manage rather to adjust. Well, he adores to do unusual, something beyond consideration but still comprehensive. He hardly exert to leave influence instead of impression. He is mere skeleton and not a cardinal body, yet he bears the burden of all phenomena on the bones built of emotions and feelings. A fragility, he struggles to appear as gallantry. He has never been clingy neither he wishes, as he voluntarily adores solitude and so finds serenity. He is lost soul that often lays in quietness. He remains there, he must not possess absence to obtrude the sense of silence.
― Imtiaz Wahid, Story of two decades