Burning Fingers

I have hardly learnt from my mistakes. And I seriously doubt whether I ever will. But for some strange inexplicable reason, I cannot seem to do things otherwise.

Actually I refuse to play by the rules of the game. Specially when it comes to a woman. There are strict guidelines to adhere to. Certain things are acceptable while certain things would surely spell disaster. Naturally, I have an affinity for beckoning disaster.

The first and cardinal rule of the game is that you should never reveal your cards till you are sure of a win. Experience has taught me that this is something I should not try much to experiment with. But, as is always the case with me, I simply do not believe in conventions. So, if you let her know, that you indeed have a stake and that you might actually be thinking, then you have most likely shot yourself in the foot - or the heart. Yet, I choose not to hold myself back.

Foolish. I know. Stupid. I agree. Yet, can you find fault with either my intention or my intensity? Do those count ? I don't know. Someday, I hope it will. To the right person. If ever, there be one.

The other rule of the game is to hold the moment by the scruff and push it through. Never allow time to think. Apparently, it takes away the spontaneity and makes it a rational process rather than an instinctive one. And rational choices are hardly interesting choices. But choices nonetheless. Yet, I choose to allow time. For only if something stands the test of time, only then the exploration is worth it. Only then, would it be immenseley exciting to look at life and live.

Ridiculous. I would think so. Idiotic. Maybe. But will the wait ever be worth it ? Am I actually romanticizing something or is there an element of reality in it? For, the waits have always been long, agonizing, draining and ultimately futile.

The best part is a burnt lost finger can only heal. Otherwise it was already burnt.