Two Paragraphs from an Unpublished Novel

He was sad, just sad. He was at sea. He felt like an island. Nothing could join him to the mainland of massive humanity. He felt no urge to talk, no need to see any face, no desire to hear any voice. In fact, he suspected he felt nothing, and had no ambition to think about anything. Lethargy comes with sadness, and this manifested only in his thoughts and feelings, for he went on with his daily chores. It was only in some moments spaced apart by days or weeks that his inner sorrow manifested in the fog in his eye, the curling of his lip, and he was now becoming adept in hiding it. He could hide it from everyone, except himself.


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He was hopeful that his days would become brighter, the nights would turn warmer, the time would be fragrant with the joy of blossom of dreams yet unfulfilled. He prayed for the realization of a dream that was so beautiful that it hurt to even dream about it. He worked for an ideal that was doomed from the very onset. He lived in this world, and thought about this world in his own way, and that there was something that could either change the world for him or change his perspective! He not only suffered through his optimism, he also allowed his life to become a treasure hunt, where the goal helps the seeker to live through any trouble and torment without a frown. Alas! Dreams, however times you may dream them, are dreams!