Fear of Uncertainty

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To play yourself false about planning the future while deep down you actually are struggling to make it to Saturday, to only fantasize normal ability as a gem and watch it show magic to the world while yourself sitting in the comfortable armchair on the balcony of fortune, to keep adding bullets in the bucket list and wait for the faintest hope make the dreams come true. Ask me if this would work. Ask me how this would work. I don’t speak a word about it. I now know that next time before dropping any bullets on the list, I shall put that bullet into much consideration. About half a life is no more with me, just a couple of memories which I believe would serve my heart even after I kick the bucket (if there really is Soul that they believe), it was yesterday, and that’s gone, wouldn’t help me with my list. And the possible half of my life is not my friend, not even acquaintance. He is Oliver. Let’s say he is Oliver Walker who I haven’t met, not sure how empathetic or coldhearted he would possibly be; I don’t know. Oliver himself doesn’t know the truth. No one knows! But wait, there is no Oliver yet. The existence of Oliver depends on that faintest hope of mine to keep walking witnessing the dark and light of the world until everything turns into oblivion someday in the end. How long will Oliver witness the Sun and the Moon, how long would he push the limit of faith that’s in the ICU of a helpless hospital? I don’t know that. Oliver knows, maybe, if I tell him the answer. But he doesn’t wish to know because the answer to the question will be the end of his existence. The answer has nothing to do with Oliver. The answer is his end. The answer is my end.

Oliver may not want to carry on, but the hidden faith of him will keep pushing him persuading that Oliver and I can get along tomorrow, and over the time the hope shall work, and the faith shall get discharged from the ICU and turn a brand new leaf in life together. That we never know. I don’t know if God knows; I don’t know.

Closing my eyes always brought one particular image, certain scenery earlier. The clock is ticking, everything is moving and running, perceptions are altering and changing, oh-please-no images of fate are overcoming the wide and peaceful eyes. Things have changed. Now, the world had changed upside down. The past is dead. It’s hunting the present and making the future scary. The fear of uncertainty. Too many images I don’t wish to see, too many sceneries I never hoped to live.



I prefer to open my eyes, that’s why, all the time. But the world doesn’t stop from moving to cause day and night, and the present doesn’t love me much to keep those images out of sight.

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