Not Always

Sometimes, days begin like this – early, yet purposeless…
Sometimes, they end that way too.

Sometimes, when I sit to write, I end up thinking – What was I thinking?
Sometimes, when I finish writing, I still think – What was I thinking?

Sometimes, when I get gooseflesh, I wonder – Is it cold or is it scary?

Sometimes, when the mirror acts friendly, I can see a breezy monsoon in it.
Sometimes, when it still acts friendly, I can see the summer in her eyes, and then, it doesn’t act friendly anymore.

Sometimes, I imagine myself in other people’s shoes, and realize that they can never step into mine, because I can never step into theirs.

Sometimes, when I gulp my pills, I wonder whether I’m fooling myself or the world.

Sometimes, I find it hard to remember the last time when I was really tired.
Sometimes, I’m so tired of the monsoons that I wish the winter back.

Sometimes, when I look at my mum’s face, I can see that she’s living in the past.
Sometimes, on that face, I see so much fear that I know the thought of future just crawled by.

Sometimes, we know what’s best for us, and we just do it.
Sometimes, when we do it, we know that it wasn’t the best for us anyway.

Sometimes, I think I could have been anybody I chose to, and I made my choice.