ramble

The shadow ever lurks at the corner of my vision. Always there, I'm never free of it. Sometimes, it sits on my back and whispers in my ear. Earlier, the voice was loud and strong I used to pay heed. Over time, it's voice has become hoarse and tiny, it's grip feeble. I am afraid of it, yet it is gladdening whenever it flexes it's wings. It's name is Passion, and you will notice life abides by it.