Confession to Broken Lady (15)

Sounds of laughter, shades of earth are ringing

Through my open views inciting and inviting me

As if to whisper her a cue from the universe it kept on bugging to seek and discover: of the truths of layered in the world of finite in infinitesimal detail. It crossed the message to further ponder it through, “Fame and tranquility can never be bedfellow.” She strolled passed the road with ease, she could only think of what could have been, if everything was done in a complete reverse. As sought after contentment, this too she would one day yearn of being. Of laying bare thought without any prejudice. How it could possibly be ruined by the hulla-ballo of noise begging for a glimpse and worrying of missing; the possibility of lesser significant. “How many questions will be left unanswered? By the reason of time killing in pursuit of bound to lose from  the grip. Why even bother asking to make intricate what could be simpler? Either?” 


The Diary of a Late Bloomer (31)

Love is a mystery, Mr.Curious
Comeback to me

Did you kill the cat already?

She made friction words, coined each of it in harmonious possible way. Not until the sudden turmoil came stroke her did her mind in a sudden dysfunction. The first three pages of the new chapters of twelve she felt less assured but so long as she held dear what sparked her soul, she dared not cease the sways. And the soul she cherished, the fictional character she made alive, she begged for him to inspire. “Mr. Curiosity, be Mr.Please, do come and save me!” In a moment of in a dire need of inspiration, she silently wishpered a wish to be blown to him by the universe, “the scenario is grave, but I’ll be braver if you save me.” Because she needed comfort for her mind in funeral.

Will you stop working from the dead and return?

The Diary of a Late Bloomer (30)

Maybe it’s intuition 
But some things you just don’t question 

Like in your eyes 

I see my future in an instant


Long-lived impression

It was impression later made form an idea of the figure that seemed in the eyes meant the missing puzzle. It was long-lived. It was stayed put. It felt turmoil in her visceral by the thought of the future time with the figure in her frame of mind. Hume so thought, “Impression is stronger and livelier than your reflective memory of that impression.” It was felt the first time of gazing at the two eyes; it was ever so stern but it offered comfort and guidance. By the passing time, as time better acquaintance, it dug the hole deeper. “Nobody is perfect sircular only who is meant to fill in the empty puzzle to make a complete picture. Even so, it is never as how it looks like in rose colored glasses.” 

There’s just no rhyme or reason only this sense of completion

I have been waiting all my life