Attend
it’s a choice to listen, experience
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There’s this urge to write — to express myself when I get along with stuff happening pretty well. I got nothing to show, but rather to share, an increment in my little life of flair.
My diction of this writing is colloquial, or I don’t understand what that means. To me, someday I will grow up being, a happy person, was once I thought. Perhaps, happiness is an experience, and there is something else in my fortune pot. The distance of my conscience and consciousness created this one travelogue, which led me to open up a spectrum of twisted, bended dialogues.
As I told you, I have something to tell you, will you listen? As I can’t suffice the anticipation of your premise.
What happened to you? Is it not obvious, that the intricate details of ephemerally seeing a mural shall last longer than those long lectures of your weak subjects which make you rather stronger?
This is about your voice only you can hear, but it’s not easy you see. That one deer who feels ecstatic upon finding the fresh water pond, the dry throat, the thirst it brings, the willingness to move, it is not an audacious expression, it is a choice. A choice you make, to find your conscience.
Time’s linear, but there aren’t just two ways you go — back and forth. There’s one way wherein you let yourself fall, in the depths of yourself; get that book from the lowest shelf. Now, can you listen to it? If not, come back, rest, connect, it might be within those immersed glistened eyes of yours, it can be anywhere, attend.
