The hot coffee would steam on a bright sunny day as you baby-sit boredom on your couch. Unwilling to move muscles, you would remain there, staring into the void while your brain would start to do “the talking”. The talks, most of, if not all the time, would be dark. If building castles in the air would be one thing, building haunted devil mansions would be another. Scared, you start craving activity. Yet, you wouldn’t want to cut ties with lethargy without a proper closure. So, you would start with a gentle peek out of the window. MUSCLE MOVEMENT ACHIEVED! Like a yorker right into the block hole, sun would slap your face tight. “The window was there for a reason!”, your brain wouldn’t seem to give up. You would stare at the world outside. You would wonder at a white feather being kissed by the winds, shining as it manoeuvered past you! You would start falling in love with almost everything that you see through the window. “I see. Now what about this?”, our brain cuts in. Then, you would table-fan your head slightly to the sides to find gigantic wings on either side of your shoulders. “Hehe!”, the asshole of a brain would give you a manipulative laugh. It would make you want to use the wings because flying high would give you a different form of high. Adding fuel to fire, the typical midsummer breeze outside the window would stage a ballet in your face. ” This gets interesting”, your brain grabs a popcorn while you stay there like a total jackass gridlocked by the two differently haunting weapons of choice. The window would almost slap harder towards as the breeze starts gusting, if not for the latch. It doesn’t stop there. The rooftop that’d been watching everything just above you blows out open and you see light entering and skies smiling at you. “Carpe diem!”, your wings would never bother lesser about your opinion. They would just start flapping for the heck of it, while you let the window curtains slither past your face. You start elevating. “Up above, there would be windows.” , The brain would kiss your arse and you would give that smile it craved for despite knowing that you can’t get out of a window at the heights. You wouldn’t want to accept that you are slowly getting away from the known devil, carried effortlessly by an unknown angel. As you soar higher, just like the clouds around, questions would start filling in. You’d wish that you didn’t have the wings in the first place. You could still feel the window curtains flapping. Deep down you want to be grounded. The levitation of your feet starts scaring you. The flapping of the curtains slowly seemed to be metaphorical to painful goodbyes that you don’t want to give. Then, with maximum effort, you would manage to silence these unknown white flappers. Then, in that moment, you would get struck spatially and exactly in the middle. On the ground lies a familiar hell and up above lies a probable heaven. Tormented by the war of choice that the both offers, allied by your logically poisoned brain cannons, you would make a silent scream of “FUCK IT!”. Now, taking the eyes off, you would find a mirror that opens within. You would look at yourself with a face stamped by questions and acknowledge the fact that your coffee had gotten cold and you’d just drink it!

Should I kill myself? Or should I have my cup of coffee?

-Albert Camus.