Disillusion

It's hard not to keep looking at it, isn't it? You stare at it fixedly till your eyes begin to water; everything becomes a blur, your mind loses focus and all of it disappears for a fraction of a second. But then, there you are at it again; with a renewed vigor, transfixed at the sight in front of you. Yes, you see those words... your very own words dancing in front of you. They are not mocking at you; they are, well just there. The glow of the soft, silver luminescence, illuminating them from underneath, makes their movement all the more hypnotic. It's a slow, deliberate and delicate ballet that is playing out in front of you. You are privileged to watch this subtle yet eerie movement of letters and symbols and numbers.... you are watching history as it unwinds and paves its way into permanence. You are slightly nonplussed by the creepy feeling of deja vu that the scene in front of you brings to your senses; you know what the next step in the dance sequence is going to be. Yet there is that irrepressible serpent rising up in your chest, that wants you to believe that, perhaps this time the dance steps would change... only to be disappointed to see the outcome contrary to your expectation. Perhaps the masochist in you is now feeling happier for you did give in to his wants by subjecting yourself to this sustained self abuse... Damned be the serpent for poisoning your existence
Slowly the performance of the words is about to reach a crescendo. You can feel it; you've seen it before; you know it all. There is a heightened sense of urgency in their movements now; a frenzy of sorts; as if they are gripped by an epileptic spasm; reckless, convoluted, and without purpose. You feel like reaching out to them, but then, as you extend your arms, you meet the glass boundary that space and time have created. You sigh; a helpless, distressed sigh, that makes you feel incompetent and impotent.... the words in front of you, implode, and fly in all random directions as you fall on your haunches, with an empty feeling that the loss has created . You look up only to see them coming back, and coalesce again. But this time, they'd mean something else...
The alarm rings with a whirring sound. Time to get up and brew your morning cup of tea.