He just feels like climbing the nearest mountain, reaching the top, going to the edge and screaming his loudest for as long as he could. He wants to go and cry his heart out in a place as deathly quiet as the graveyard till he is completely dry inside. He wants to drink the strongest alcohol there is, till the end of the world so his insides would burn brighter than hell. But he hasn’t lost hope completely. No, not at least yet.
He is not what the world expects him to be; what it perceives him to be. And even if he becomes that, world will still not accept him. He is the Outcast. He is the one who doesn’t fit the norm. His thoughts are too piercing and brutally honest. But he fears the unknown just like the others, Ah, he is courageous enough to at least try to face them.
He too has seen lot of failure, but none had caused him as much grief as the last one. This one almost broke him up. But he is still on that edge, shouting; still in that graveyard, crying; still at that bar counter, drinking, but only just, only just. He still has that last ounce of hope and courage to get up and try once more. May be not for himself, but for an iota of acceptance in this world, which churns out heart wrenching quotes about appreciating the quality of life, but doesn’t itself appreciate it and keeps running faster and faster. Well if this guy can…
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