Grumpy

He donned passion like a cloak worn backwards, its intensity hidden from the world yet burning fiercely within. Humor, twisted in its delivery, found its way out in sardonic whispers, a mirror image of laughter that lingered in the shadows. Luck, that fickle mistress, danced in reverse around him, teasing with false promises and fleeting chances.

Inappropriate love, a tangled web of emotions, wrapped around his heart like thorns in a forbidden garden, blooming in defiance of reason. An exact clock ticked relentlessly, a reminder of the unyielding march of time, while peace and quiet remained elusive, slipping through his grasp like sand in an hourglass.

Between the knife, sharp and unforgiving, and the insatiable desires that drove him forward, there lay a precarious balance. In the struggle to save ourselves from the abyss of our own making, we often find ourselves slipping further into the darkness. And in that delicate dance of existence, we discover that sometimes, in losing ourselves, we may just find the truth hidden within the chaos.

Copyright ? Beatriz Esmer

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