Everyone has his or her pensive moments at time. The most recent one in my memory struck me an hour earlier. Interestingly, it came while i was on the bus, trundling down the gold-laced asphalt. Gazing at the sky always makes me feel small. Not that it sent me down memory lane though. The state of transfixation puts me back in my rightful place in the bigger Order of things. A very humbling experience indeed.
But somehow today, this put-me-down was shrouded me in greater mysticism than usual. I profess to be an adherent of the Romanticism artistic movement. I like to and in fact, relish in deriving aesthetic experiences from strong surges of emotions.
And there I was, my subconscious suddenly delirious with strong impulses. I doubt i could ever narrate let alone pen down these thoughts in completeness. Nevertheless, the closest my conscious could muster, a crippled wreck limping in desperation after its subconscious brethren, was that i suddenly felt that my life was a ball of sensory experiences and primal impulses ensconced in a chest.
A receptacle weightless and dimensions, lack-of. How can one claim to comprehend when he knows not? This thing here that contains all that's my life, has been anything but stationary. It wanders not in the physical realm but from a space in time to another. It navigates and traverses with a life of its own. I am but a mere passenger in transit. Or so i choose to humbly believe. Is it you that is here in warm flesh and blood in my life or are thou nought but a figment of my imagination and sensory perception? Dare I say that I was making use of this box as a conduit? All along I have been doomed to stick to this journey, for better or for worse, never mind my willingness or lack of.
I know not of the extent of my journey from my steps that I take. I know not of the end that seemingly beckons. Is that the last corner or are there many more yet to be?
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