Veil of Transition

People we meet,
People we knew,
People we adore,
People we love.. are gifts.

Arrives in individual packaging,
The gift within is unpredictable,
Wrapped up within the pretty papiers,
Or in a trash wrap,
The value of the content is unknown,
Till it is unravel.

I wonder,
Source of the gift..
Nah.

The intent,
Is the precious gift in the gift,
which matters.

I am tired of meeting all the wrong people

I rather walk on a path where theres not even a single soul.

I guess, I am making the right decision afterall-

soon I'll pack and go.

Again, i have to go thru a shortlived happiness.