Traditionalist

"I want to be someone's wife one day....... "

Those words, the honesty they were conveyed with at that moment in time, the simplicity of it all startled me. What was even more confounding was the bearer of the statement.

Here is a lady. Top of her class (herein at this moment in time making reference to her brains and not her sassy self). Which reminds me, why does top of her class have to invoke references in respect to sexuality and not intelligence? Seems intelligence as a  virtue was thrown out of the window when women realised that they could use their sexuality to manipulate members of the male species, a good number of whom have been overrun by the testosterone flowing in their system. It is even confusing when the lady happens to be intelligent and beautiful. Confusing for both genders it seems because the notion that a woman could be both intelligent and beautiful is impossible has been inculcated into the hearts of humanoids.

Yes I said it: humanoids.  Objects taking on the behaviour of human beings but their identity as human beings has been dissipated by twitter standards, Facebook standards, instagram, blogger and WordPress and the latest generation of identity-orphaned feminists. The said group of social technocrats suggesting that a lifelong institution of intimate companionship is for the weak and illiterate shaol minded folk. I am no longer certain that beings exist as an outright majority amongst homo sapiens sapiens now that a new generation of believers has cropped up. Believers who believe in anything else but the truth. Cultured to reject the truth that gives frame to their identity and take on every wave of backbone-less dogma that comes their way. Ingesting it all like infants whose noses have been pinched shut by their mothers in order that they may involuntarily swallow the syrup prescribed by the physician.

Beautiful, intelligent and willing to explore one of life's greatest gift to mankind:

The Boulevard of unfulfilled dreams

Our eyes met, but only for a brief moment.
Glances exchanged past the bars of captivity,
Did she notice me? Did she even notice that I was around?

Days of daydreaming preceeded nights of terror.
Not the kind of nightmares that involved witches and ghosts,
Dreams in which the tormentor is your object of desire.
Sweet dreams of oneness, but broken realities

My silence, my weakness,
I couldn't muster up the courage to talk,
Nothing beyond hello.
My silence my strength,
To be able to hold all the raging emotions in,
To resist the urge to reveal my heart.

That was then. Ten years ago.
All was forgotten, but not all was lost.
Till the day our eyes met again.
And the key to the cell was turned,
Locking myself inside once again.