By just observing the fragments of everyday living, you can feel a fictitious force pushing you to write. Of course, writing is letting go of yourself.
By lingering along streetwalks and taking a dose of its proposed environment, one can see himself somehow struggling for a blank sheet where almost all words are ready to be written. Streaming through the waves of an internal dialogue happening between you and your purpose,words are marching, and train of thoughts are neither disturbed nor derailed.
And yes, my purpose was triggered again.
And yes, my purpose was triggered again.
"Chestnut roasting on an open fire.
Jackfrost nipping at your nose nose.
Yuletide carols, being sang by a choir and folks dressed up like eskimos.
Everbody knows, a turkey and some mistletoes, help to make the season bright..."
Jackfrost nipping at your nose nose.
Yuletide carols, being sang by a choir and folks dressed up like eskimos.
Everbody knows, a turkey and some mistletoes, help to make the season bright..."
I heard Christmas songs once again. Those moments are of distinct relevance.
Nostalgic. I started to remember many things. SoO many things that overwhelmed me. To that extent, I prefered to look at those memories in a fast pace.
As to that, I started walking again in that big alley, where chatters are free to talk.
I push the baby's cart to continue strolling in that vast place -- where both the rich and the poor form part to build that masterpiece where discrimination has no room.
Everyone is taking a rest. Everyone is happy. And there is no single category to identify those cheers. The independence is complete in their own ways.
Till, I found myself texting beside that big Christmas tree, as I encode the details of what I'm looking at. All are clear.
I woke up. It was a dream. I finally realize that I am enclosed in an atmospehere where everything is reflecting as what mirrors do.
Abstract but free of possible intruders. We are the ruler in our dreams. We play the most significant role. It as if camera is taking a record of what has come to pass -- as we see our own facial expressions. It's like a big studio! It's like shooting a film.
But, thinking realistically, those scences happen only in our minds -- the chambers to where secrets, ultimate battlecry and the real you dwell!
There, I actually got the message to write.
Nostalgic. I started to remember many things. SoO many things that overwhelmed me. To that extent, I prefered to look at those memories in a fast pace.
As to that, I started walking again in that big alley, where chatters are free to talk.
I push the baby's cart to continue strolling in that vast place -- where both the rich and the poor form part to build that masterpiece where discrimination has no room.
Everyone is taking a rest. Everyone is happy. And there is no single category to identify those cheers. The independence is complete in their own ways.
Till, I found myself texting beside that big Christmas tree, as I encode the details of what I'm looking at. All are clear.
I woke up. It was a dream. I finally realize that I am enclosed in an atmospehere where everything is reflecting as what mirrors do.
Abstract but free of possible intruders. We are the ruler in our dreams. We play the most significant role. It as if camera is taking a record of what has come to pass -- as we see our own facial expressions. It's like a big studio! It's like shooting a film.
But, thinking realistically, those scences happen only in our minds -- the chambers to where secrets, ultimate battlecry and the real you dwell!
There, I actually got the message to write.
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