Multitude

Too many shimmering lights. Too many twinkling stars. Too many burning hearts.
 One suffers from a multitude of self-inflicted acts of misery. The very reason for this bizarre act of penance is veiled in a mist of ambiguity. But the pertinent question is, Why? One dwells on failures, celebrates triumphs, ponders on the unknown, it is this moment one expends.
What do we stand to gain? The journey, I would say. Every speck of dust which falls on the traveler is a treasure, the reward for unflinching focus.
Too many fragrances. Too many hues of existence. Too many sounds.

P.S. : Rusty.  

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