...existing...
when i read those random lines jotted down behind my notebook i wonder what they meant. they seem so so familiar and close to me. i try to remember what i felt then and nothing comes to my mind. i feel those are times when my soul and everything else in this world merge into the illusion of oneness.
during those moments every word you write carries the aroma of your soul, it defines everything you feel then. sometime later going back to the same words, they look like words in a dictionary. so full of literary meaning. the aroma is gone, the hue is invisible and the essence of you is lost.
now i feel its all about the moment when you can reside in that bubble of oneness.
the words that escape from you are naive and pregnant. words gone through manipulation is like second hand truth. its the same with our daily life too.
a person can never be what his or her sub-conscious is. where they have their roots, where people know them, where they have reputations build ahead of them. only when a person is travelling or alone, becomes this abstract existence, where there is some sort of impunity from self and others.
where there is no impunity, the distance between your body and soul is so much the vacuum or absence in between is heavy, with colours and patterns, and even a smell. almost like an object.
p.c : http://www.photocase.com/photo/69553-stock-photo-sky-white-clouds-black-bubble-soap
during those moments every word you write carries the aroma of your soul, it defines everything you feel then. sometime later going back to the same words, they look like words in a dictionary. so full of literary meaning. the aroma is gone, the hue is invisible and the essence of you is lost.
now i feel its all about the moment when you can reside in that bubble of oneness.
the words that escape from you are naive and pregnant. words gone through manipulation is like second hand truth. its the same with our daily life too.
a person can never be what his or her sub-conscious is. where they have their roots, where people know them, where they have reputations build ahead of them. only when a person is travelling or alone, becomes this abstract existence, where there is some sort of impunity from self and others.
where there is no impunity, the distance between your body and soul is so much the vacuum or absence in between is heavy, with colours and patterns, and even a smell. almost like an object.
p.c : http://www.photocase.com/photo/69553-stock-photo-sky-white-clouds-black-bubble-soap
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