‘Are you in love with him?’
‘No!’
But then what is this deep suffocation that I feel when I can’t help him?
When things are supposed to be left to rearrange for themselves,
When people are supposed to be left to discover themselves,
When even the most intricate and calculated interference tends to be derogatory,
Which is worse than its’ futility
Why can’t they just see it that the ‘problem’ is nothing but their perception?
And that it ceases to exist when they acknowledge this conception?
Why do they have to suffer the conditioning of their very own minds?
How am I supposed to just leave things alone, without helping?
Why am I still clinging on? And what am I clinging on to?
Oh, when will I grow above this fear of losing people to their minds!
Another 'first step' into the genre of poetry/prose/whatever-it-gets-cooked-into
