I’ve always find it alleviating to write down my trail of thoughts. Those swirling life topics - one after another, worsen during melancholic lost puppy interludes; somehow assuage themselves once emerged in strings of written form - Plotted or None.
”This could be a nucleus of a bestselling book,” my Id patting me on the shoulder. Brain cells smile in return, “When are you going to realise that you are always a mediocre and will always have a run of a mill kind of existence? Lots of people are thankful just to be alive – why can’t you?”
Quoting Nick Cave, “I don’t believe in an interventionist God,” and yet, my faith of the unknown soars every time at a sight of a rainbow across the horizon.
So maybe, just maybe, this written form of thoughts might somehow synchronize themselves from those winding trails into one secure path, where I and my shadow can walk down sheltered.
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