derrière.

Everyone is the way they are because of what life did to them; They didn't want to be the way that they are; Each one of us are, because we were. There isn't a fix or cure that exist that can change any of that; and considering, how anyone is comfortable just being themselves. We don't see a reason to change ourselves.

The more accustomed we are to the comfort zone, the less likely we're going to leave it. To us, a normal bland routine is not good but for the sake of all purposes, it is safe and it works. Change comes when you try, there's no guarantee that the change will be for the better; there's always the propensity for calamity, hiding, lurking just behind that shadowed alley. Then, we become fearful of any sort of modifications to our routine, because breaking off from the norm is in itself is scary. The unknown. It piques us, baits us, try to throw us off the track. Some thirsty for adventure, seeks it while others shuns it like vampires running from the sun.

At the same time, those running away, looks behind; and that's when all hell breaks loose.

Thunder.

It strikes, the blue streaked lightning, hammering down upon the earth, each time, bringing about a deafening roar unlike that of the a lion yet still fearsome and full of the same murderous intent. A subtle crackling follows the awe-inspiring tear across the wind, like particles diffusing in the air, ionized by the sudden electrical surge. 

The entire nightscape  illuminated by the blue-white, brings about a frozen image of the nocturnal. Owls and the likes, revealed by the ungodly blaring of the very skies which it hunts in, yet unfazed and uncaring. With this very blast from the furnace of the heavens, every movement on land seems to begin to slow and halt momentarily. All things seem to be waiting for the next one, again and again.

Though the saturated air is dry yet a certain kind of moist permeates through the air, as if foretelling a coming storm. Only if the sky's temperament is predictable, then might we have had found solace before all of it broke loose, down upon us mortals.

A biting gale rose, out of nowhere and with it, a rustling of branches which grew violent as it escalates; 
A warning that gave us no time to prepare for, the wind clawed at all that it could reach, fatal and impartial.

In this chaos brought out by the natural order of things, I could hear only your voice, booming like the thunder itself, distant but close to heart.

Human Heart.

Our hearts are weak.

I say so because the human heart is so easily broken; Failed relationships can easily rend a heart to a million pieces. Death too, can kill those still alive, just as it has taken those dearest to us. Tiredness, runs a heart until it's out of juice, effectively stopping it. Clogged arteries and veins, building up pressure, until all of it just bursts. Crushing one's heart by a ruptured rib cage, due to excessive impact or blunt trauma. Poking at it with an extremely sharp pointed object spills the juice and it goes down like a deflated balloon.

The list could go on and on but I'm missing the point I'm trying to make already.

and here's some music, go figure.

The Box.

All of us begin as a metaphorical empty box, filled with nothing but innocence and naivety. There are no boundaries limiting how big or small this box could be, it can be as wide and as deep as seas and oceans, in the beginning. All wide-eyed and full of ourselves, we rush headlong into the world, neither knowing what to expect nor what to do with the unexpected. Then, it happens.

Growing up, we embark upon the arduous and never ending task of filling said box, with a variety of things - some of them matters, most of them don't. The more we stack into the symbolic box, the less we remember what we've put there to the point that we begin to question ourselves. What am I doing with my life?

That is the point when you'd become overwhelm with life itself. You'd become busier with the same amount of work but with less productivity than before, there might even be times when you just want to give up trying anymore. Yet, you trudge on, with whatever willpower you could muster, hoping that at the end of this soul crushing deluge, there will be serenity. The biblical equivalent of the light at the end of the tunnel.

We don't know this yet, but that peace does not lies all the way at the end. Depending on what you chose to put inside that allegorical box, any dissension disrupting your life's harmony could be eliminated instantly. Like, poof. Gone.

Personally, I'd put in love and passion enough to last me a lifetime and then seal the fuck out of that box.

City.

People from all walks of life, walking hurriedly along the pavement. The streets are packed, with sedans, cabs and bicycles. The city sway with perpetual motion, always moving and never a moment's rest in between. In this bustling hive of a metropolis, signs of activity could be seen everywhere; hot-dogs sellers by the sidewalk, office workers running late, students clamoring onto the school bus. 

Everybody is going on about their own business, all fast-paced and purpose-like. Nobody gave a second glance on the man standing on the ledge atop the skyscraper, that is, until he leaped.