The fate of his desire

 

Desire.

A strong wish. A burning feeling of wanting something to happen.

I want it. I want it. I just want it so bad.

Why does the heart desire for things which are unattainable?

Why do we run behind things which will never come to us throughout our existence?

Humans tend to behave irrationally, for beings which evolved from monkeys, who did not have a cerebral cortex, the more rational we got, the more irrationally we behaved. Evolution created a subconscious, which behaves on its own accord, never ever knowing the real reason for ‘why we do what we do’. Desires which don’t make sense. But the desire doesn’t go away, no matter how much you rationalise it. It was like your soul was always trying to reach for something beyond its physical boundaries and mental limitations. If only there was no desire, life would have been easier. But desire drives development, the development of human race. An evolutionary problem. The cause of all unhappiness and happiness. 

Sometimes, you regret not pursuing the path of your dreams, and sometimes you regret pursuing the path of your dreams. Human beings, always a picture of regret, the case of grass always seeming to be greener of the other side, bad predictors of what makes them happy, always complaining, always wanting more, never accepting their fate, and never being happy.

What was worse? Having a dream and watching it die? Or not having a dream?

He wished he had a simpler, easier and conforming dream. But it was also the reason why his story would be iconic.

It was the story of a boy who dared to dream against all odds.

It was the story of the love of a lifetime. 

It was the story of a hungry soul.

It was the story of the depths of emotions trying to etch themselves on paper.

It was the story of musical notes, flowing, through the tips of the fingers on their own accord, trying to create history.

It spoke of regret, love, wants, and misery. And misery loves company, because happiness rarely encompasses your very being, but even a little bit of pain can consume your every cell.

There were seven notes to music.

It was his saviour and his ruin.

Music was the canvas for his sorrow, where he painted all his notes out.  It saved him from insanity, made him lose himself and helped him get out of the pit of depression. Music was his ray of hope and also which made him bleed. The longing for it made him bleed. Time was relative, non-existent when he played his piano.

I never feel full when I play. I want to keep doing it. Why do I not stop hurting myself? Maybe it is in my fate, to long, and to never get it. But if it is so, if I am meant to suffer, I will suffer, with all my might. And one day, hope will come. I will live through all the bad times, because they say, the good times will come.

Every time he thought, it couldn’t get worse, it got worse. It was said that, ‘It is the darkest before dawn’, but he always wondered, how would he know when the dawn was coming? Was he standing at 2 am or 3 am or 4 am?

If he was at 4 am, he would persevere and endure, because there was only an hour before dawn, before it all gets better, but what if he was at 2 am? Was there a sign? He wanted a sign. Universe? The Gods? Someone out there to give him a sign. Because if it was 2 am he would pack it up and go, because he knew he couldn’t last.

All he wanted was a bit of appreciation, someone to recognise his efforts, art for art’s sake, was hard, for he was just a mere mortal with desires. It was an irony, he made music for himself, nonetheless at the same time he made music for others. And it was only if others deemed it worthy enough, that he would ever know the sweet taste of success.

All sides seem wrong. All paths seem difficult, and I am confused. Do I even have it in me, the talent? Or do I not have the good fate watching it come true?

What was the fate of his desire?

A desire, so strong, that even the universe decided it could not hold it, so it killed it.

 --

 

Well, how is it?

Anyways… let me give you guys some more insight on this piece. I was reading an article about Vincent Van Gogh and he died penniless and it seemed sad for someone who was so talented but did not have the good fate of watching it come true.

Here is the article-

Though his life was short, Vincent van Gogh left the world with almost 2000 creations, almost all of which were unappreciated in his own time (he only sold one painting during his life and was supported by his brother Theo). Despite the fact that he is now considered a master painter with an almost immeasurable impact on art and culture, Van Gogh died penniless in 1890 at the age of 37 by his own hand. He is quoted presciently observing, "I can't change the fact that my paintings don't sell. But the time will come when people will recognize that they are worth more than the value of the paints used in the picture. (https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/28010/10-cultural-giants-who-died-coinless)

So that was the inspiration. Life apparently is I don’t know, confusing?

Anyways, do let me know if you guys enjoyed this piece in the comments below! And let me know if you guys believe in luck?