An Incessant Pursuit

I am writing a book, that would glorify the songs of blue and sing praises of the daily heroic humdrums that I valiantly triumphed through; A book that would lionize the obscure walks I took like the moon walking towards its eclipse and celebrate the pages of remarkable sunsets when no rain could quench the thirst of the somber lips. I am writing a book, that would dedicate odes to the setting sun and to those stranded quests for the hearts of stars at the loss of a loved one; That would not make me feel miserable for the choices I accepted but never made and would put me on a pedestal for that melancholy smile, I so beautifully masquerade. I am writing a book, that would contain tragedies in pages I would want to tear off, but will not for when I look back to the finished stories I would realize that this memoir is mine, and those half-written characters were so paralyzed to have shaped my final plot; That would underline the days when it was scorching