I suppose there comes a moment in all our lives when we are torn between what could have been and what is. And certainly not all of us are bestowed with capacity and audacity enough to look back on such times with a ((gratifying)) smile on our face, satisfied for the gleam of experience that grew henceforth than be disheartened by the darkness that veils the road not taken. Perhaps, living in the past is not such a good pastime. Sometimes. Sometimes is something I have acquired the habit of using a great deal. The worst follows when the shadow of past overwhelms us on our way, to haunt us through the future, sometimes stabbing us dead in one stroke, sometimes gently piercing through into our imagination inflicting wounds that soak and suck the life spirit bit by bit... Choices. Are they not the vantage points for these phantoms to rest, respire and resile. A good piece of writing is like the subtle intoxication which creeps up slowly, spreading its myriad tentacles all across before it overcomes the prey completely and draws it into a (paradoxical word needed) submission, it is like the altering of a soul, the reader no longer is external to what he reads, instead he relinquishes his soul, his passion and his emotions for the story to build on, for the characters to thrive on...It would have been wonderful to be able to choose from the past and see for the present.
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