God gave me a little flair for writing as an apology for making me as socially awkward as a penguin (in sand).
My personal space is basically a series of events that includes reading, writing and mulling over things, in no particular order.
I believe that nothing in the world is a cliché, and at the same time, almost everything is.
“If the mind could see, poetry would be a sight for whenever those eyes would be sore.”
A musing is like the child of my contemplation. It is as if a seed cracks the earth of my brains and sprouts like a little sapling, growing into ivies of thoughts as I mull over things.
A thought pour is like a clear stream of river. Or to be more precise, like a waterfall. A current of freely flowing thoughts I cannot control, devoid of any restrain, any malice. Purer than the mist or the morning.
#ThoughtPourEleven //What stands in between? What stands between a man’s obscurity and clarity? Merely mistaking their own level of abstraction for profoundness.
#MusingThirtyOne //old flames. And since the light, as if too proud refused to make love to the yearning recesses, and the unfrequented retreats, the silhouettes, like old… Read more “#MusingThirtyOne //old flames.”
#MusingThirty //as everyday, as forever. My sweet, come see me, as the skyline will bleed at the seams, the colour of molten crayons. I will wait in… Read more “#MusingThirty //as everyday, as forever.”