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I can feel it all. I can see the anguish of the star, the pale countenance of the moon, and how these expressions don’t level up with his calling. He is a megalomaniac. The way these stars and the moon glance, hiding behind those rusty clouds, is immensely playful. But some things seem beautiful on the outside, but they have this astounding effect on us through which the fraud becomes bleak. The sky looks beautiful, and it is calling him in its entirety.
But what about his wishes and his desires? What if he doesn’t belong to the sky contaminated with ruthless stars and a pretentious moon?
What ff the things he desires is not something that this sky holds. The level of imagination to be put under the interpretation of his expectations was too much to comprehend. But I did that with utter dedication and gave my all to it. The impossible, in the process, was also made possible. I understood pretty well that his desires are above the sky. It’s above the cosmic. Above them all.
He leaves all the grudge-filled birds behind serenely. If looked at closely, these birds had an expression of superficiality that was not visible to the commoners, but it was visible to him even from far, far away. I found him the most handsome man in the lot. His power of
understanding these complex things is way ahead of mine when it comes to flying high in the sky and understanding its bad influence.
He is much experienced. But what I am distressed about is the ambition in him; I know the burning fire in him. The only thought incomprehensible is that, why does this connection become gloomy? It seems pretentious at times, and reality most of the other times, and this kind of hold becomes devoid of liveliness. I am closely connected to his mind, and the thoughts which revolve in the membranes present there. It is unbelievable to me when I sit back, relax (ironically) and reflect upon the instances when I had to beg for comprehension. This left me with no option but to acquiesce to his thinking and agree when I was in tears for being most ardently misunderstood.
He is the most lively and humble person, the most appealing person and our knot is very beautifully tied.
The knot is tied very tightly, but is it too tight to behold the pain and anguish of my heart? Tight, maybe because of the anguish and not too tight, maybe because of the love.
These emotions are not mere emotions, but a serious contemplation and a deterioration of a belief in oneself, in one’s ability to be emotionally stable. As a victim of this, I can only allow myself to pick up the reflection of the memories and instances that I have grabbed by now. I can only write and make my thoughts provoke the paper or the reader who will find his story embedded in it.
The comprehensiveness in me divulges into an in-depth ocean of destitution. This lack becomes so inherent and so heart throbbing that it emerges from a Gothic atmosphere for me. The spectral powers around me make me gain more and more pessimism. The question repeats itself several times.
If I can comprehend him if I can see the hidden waves of high authority in him, why can’t he? Is it so impossible? Or is it in the playful character of this man which makes him unable to understand me and delve into the profundity of my consciousness?