My impromptu views promptly decayed by the unrealistic realities. Thousand dreams and thousand wishes, each ends in a tragic reality. Who made the mistake? the answer is always we. Everyone and everything else is just reasons. The sarcastic miseries of life playing anomalous tyranny on me. The dominance which cannot be pacified by the outcries of obsolete present. Framed by words, framed by emotions, framed by distance, the result is all the same. Pulling down the deep proportions of the past, the dilemma still remains. Its all the same, echoing through the heart. The author cried, hold me tight, hold me to heart. I am falling, catch me. Crucify me for the imminent mistakes, bury me for the misleading comments. I may not resurrect, I may not phoenixfied, but I may lay down in the memoirs as a hateful memory.