were there ever a moment where one feel they cease to exist? were there ever a moment where one feel they have been reborn? were there ever a moment where one seems to have found a sense of purpose?

those moments are always there. lingering within the stale air that we breathe in. those moments are momentarily yet permanent. those moments seems to engage explicitly yet withdraws itself excruciatingly. some flatters the occasion when it appears, others paints a bleak hour.

we toil and toil again. personifying our lost hopes and dreams. we toil and toil again, embarking on a road to recovery. paths have been opened when roads have been closed. yet it’s there, fleetingly exasperating.

sitting here on my dinner table, in this small cozy apartment i call mine. waiting for the laundry to finish. still haven’t bathe. still not hungry though the sun is falling from its peak. waiting for that fleeting moment, where all the opened paths is lighted by the nightingale.