Am I good player or something? And so fate would choose me for these games?
I want to be free. I want to set my mind free of such things. Liberate the Mind, God.
Set me free

I wonder what is bigger a truth of life, growing up or death? Death, is looked at with much more importance apparently. But we romanticize more with death than with growing up. Dementors in harry potter, the after life in the Egyptian after life, the sirens who suck it out of you, the Yamraj in the Hinduism.. we've overdone overdoing death. Haven't we?
Where as today, as I, for the first time in my life, after 24 years, feel that I am ACTUALLY growing up,
I am feeling like it is a bigger change than death. Death is a change that you can't change and growing up always leaves you with a chance.
The unknown, then, just like in all romantic relationships and their derivations, is applicably more attractive in all cases. Just because we don't know it, it becomes more intriguing, right? So what is more unique? The feeling I feel when I touch my lover's oh so known skin, or when I long to touch the skin of my grandfather who has passed away? I will never touch him again. But then it is also true that the excitement is much lesser in this touch, the touch of my lover. He reminds me of home coming.
Here I am mixing it all up in my mind again.. growing up, living, loving and death.
Boy! I don't even need to get intoxicated for this!
A lion furiously biting down the red freshly dead muscles of a musk, the pigeon on my window pane waiting for a week after her egg disappeared (the egg fell and broke in her absence), the radiance of a wild lily that lets the droplets casually slip through her skin, the pointless vastness of the sky which for god knows what is vaster than one can ever imagine, the veins of a leaf and the random structure that they naturally follow, the ripples in the water that form a whirlpool, the unending patience with which a horizon still confidently stands.. Waiting to be reached... someday... will I ever be that close to life?
Consciousness. Consciousness of existence. That's my bane, that's also the reason I am capable of jotting these things down. But where does it take me? I would not have asked this question if I at all were the pigeon or the lily or the horizon.... why was there the need for a race that could sit back and wonder about themselves, their crimes and prejudices, their world, their sight, their experience?
Applause was it?
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