Let the night pass,
For the day will be kinder,
Let the night pass.
Choice. It’s an illusion. A great one at that.
The variables that define our lives have already been rolled out. And hence we are all a cluster of predefined variables with no constants whatsoever. And we know this. The illusion is that we don’t believe this even then.
The trees in this African landscape have a triangular shaped crown. The stem branches out profusely. The branches again branch out. The branches of the branches then branch out. It’s a geometric progression. The leaves are thin and few. The result is that the crown resembles the root. Even if you invert the tree, root up and crown down, it will still look the same. Sometimes I wonder if the ground on which these trees stand is just a mirror reflecting the root onto the surface.
Memories are like beautiful pointed leaves. If you touch them, they will prick you. So look at them, if you want, from a distance.
Once I heard a piano music. I heard it say something. It was sad and touching. But I couldn’t understand it’s burden. Do you know what language does a piano speak?
Let’s not make this sad.
Let’s celebrate our shortcomings,
Let’s paint our insecurities green,
Let’s shout out our faults
From the rooftops of the world.
Let’s make milestones out of
Our biggest mistakes.
We were never meant to be perfect.
Let’s not be perfect.