Why does it always have to be turmoil?
Impetus swiftness, awry catalysts.
Evil step-mothers, Cinderella curfews.
I thought I was too old for time limits,
and child-proof regulations.
Too old for sneaking around, for whispering secrets. Waiting? Too old for waiting.
Why does it always have to be chaos?
Sleepless nights, breathless visits, cloudy visions of what-ifs, and what not.
Too old to obsess, to see light in a dark matter. To find love in a reckless essence, that does not recognise its’ own frail nature.
Why does there always have to be a dilemma?
A decision to weigh fate upon fate on.
Why does there have to be harsh words, fierce tears, and broken expressions?
Avoidable in theory, and yet, an all too true piece of reality.
What of happiness?
What of not being stopped at the border?
What of peace, quieted lives, and eventless retirements?
What of love, pure in design and untainted as life goes on?
Why have I grown up on fairy tales, and have such a hard time in believing in such wholesome things?
Why do I spend restless nights thinking about such a fixation?
I do not want an equal balance of good and bad, happiness and sadness.
I do not want anothers’ rule, or to share anyones’ misgivings.
I want undisturbed tranquility.
I desire love, sans upheaval.