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Confession To Broken Lady (5)

Someone said that life is like this. That things become so dull- no matter what it is


About the sui generis that seemed to me already in my favorite list of phrase. ‘I wish she knew full well what has been left spoken.’ She embedded herself deep again to what amazed her eyes in front. Like her usual self who got me failed not to wonder and question my own depth. Slapped me to and fro in every unfolding utterances, whether what arranged to her satisfied her endless chain of wonders. Much as I hated to dig my thought deeper because of the recollecting preconceptions were quite tiring a doing to make it a habitual routine. Not that I wasn’t capable of showing the depth, it simply took me extended effort. ‘I’m afraid of leaving them trains of chained words in the jar of thought,  with the assumptions of intellectually inept.’

The universe works itself in a way to make us wonder, its rendering directions, and how it bounds to make a bias, if there is actually any. Even when I refused to accept anything of an instant, because what profound, takes a great deal of times. For the first time, I rethought it with the possibility of ‘exceptional‘. But to take it with a grain of salt still. But I love the sound of it flows in my hearing, sui generis, out of mundane. A distinguished kind.” Each of the word set themself free from the jar in unintentionally eloquent flow. She did her attention to her eyes amusement the better in comparison to my words to me sound like a majestic regress of wisdom.

Only within further seconds then I got her attention a full wrap. And it was the moment I’d like to rewind a lifetime, enough to have the small chunk of her slightly sinister smile and sordid stare but right peaceful in radiation of my sight and processing forth to my heartstring. Left it stay put and hang, plastered in infinite depth. ‘What is it the feeling of unconscious stabbed. As if I lost what is irreparable. Irreplaceable. But for I sure convince, it is not a regret. What’s taken? What’s to be stolen? Or it is already? without my realizing it.’

“Out of mundane. A distinguished kind. Exceptional. We have them all another way of naming it. If anything, what precious takes a constant watering, not always literally, in a concrete form of steady conversations or seeings the physical form of the beloved one, somehow a simple act of remembrance, of reminiscing, is another way of watering. What lingered is the impression the person left. What stayed is how the person made you feel in the simplest form of togetherness. It doesn’t always long in period, say, the amount of spent quality times, thus you have it what later on ‘exceptional’. The rare kind is pretty much varied in definition, what captivated, most of the time, radiates a mysterious well. ” She had this in between blinking in processing her spoken, as if there was an imaginary playing movie in her thought. She looked at me straight only to project her mind’s significance, it was clearly to me she got lost in her own play backward. 

Tell me everything- look at me and tell me


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