You can see it all there, staring at you like a child craving attention. It’s always the same, always has been. A restless pit of darkness. Of the unknown yet clear, beckoning amidst the fog. You see the suits, clean and sharp, tailored from wise hands dedicated to their craft. Silver watches on left wrists telling of monies and where to place them. Dimly light hallways filled with invite-only guests ready to purge their wealth in the name of philanthropy. Bulging wallets with fat appetites ready to swindle any gullible prey. Their faces laden with fake smiles; some stroking each others’ egos, others boasting of new and upcoming deals. Both fueled by greed and envy, deadly like a mixture of tequila and vodka, seemingly transparent but the devil is always in the details. This hall, of high ceilings and windows latching onto the walls, top to bottom their fate intertwined. The chandeliers, hanging two-three feet down, glistening with pizzazz like they’re the only diamonds in the world. Yes, you see yourself there. Fitting every inch of such paces like a glove. Spectacular views, splendid cars, and beautiful women, the kind only meant for movies, the look but not touch kind of sassy.
Then there’s the work. The gloomy little murk which always seems to be there. Like a parasite lost from its prey and therefore decided you could do just as well. With each passing day becoming longer and longer whilst your dreams go the other direction. As the seconds simmer down in their millions, so does your vision and purpose. Slowly being erased by the harsh realities of the world. You could choose to blame the latter but that won’t cut it. The real reason is you. A rogue bandit who decided the status quo was wrong and decided not to put any effort. But same as a first-time lover that never forgets, the flashes of your dreams flash by you trying to shake your mind into gear. One day it shall pass. One day, the extra effort shall bear fruit. One day, the work will end.