They all want to hear stories. So, I stand up to tell mine.

To segregate life into compartments – dreaming, working, parenting, loving, liking, hating – will only make you see yourself as prominent which is a farce. If you don’t bring your whole into everything, you will be annihilated into a million pieces, each a stranger.

To survive in the modern workforce, you must be willing to accept that your purpose of life is as equivalent to the work that you do.

To dare to dream in a world where dreams have definitions inscribed unto them is an act of supreme faith.

They say, yours is not the kind we like to hear.

We see what happens, when we care too much. We see what happens, when we care too little. But, it is such deep slumber that even catalysts fail to wake you up.

Do you know, how it shrivels my bones, and, eats my mind, the depression? What becomes of you in the eventuality is all too common. It will be no different than what becomes of your loved one or your enemy.

You predict your malady because you can see yourself lying.

All the heroes and heroines have now died. Some have died peaceful and some have died in violence. I mourn them having lost them at a young age.

I know, I would die too, one day.

So, without heroes and heroines, without a window, I hope for an open door, somewhere.


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