I'm soaking up work like a dried up sponge in the midst of the Sahara. It feels like I haven't had time for myself or that I haven't had the time to put myself out in the market for someone to pick up, have a look or at least bring home for a trial period of two weeks. Its seemed like in a matter of 5 months I had become from a hopeful Charlotte York character to more of a cynical Miranda Hobbes.
I sometimes smile at people who seem to be truly, madly and deeply in love with one another, at times I quiver. I had a thought. Maybe the greatest love of all comes once in a lifetime if you're lucky, twice if you're luckier or that you tend to present yourself in such a manner that people would love to get to know you more, more than two bottles of beer or that you were aesthetically pleasing.
I'm just waiting for that certain person to sweep me off my feet on a whirlwind romance and wake the inner hopeful soul in me and turn my life for the better, or is that waiting doing me wrong. That's why I ask myself, "Will I ever become hopeful again"? or that I am not lucky enough for that request.
No comments:
Post a Comment