I am like a feather floating in the air, neither driven by a purpose nor bound by an ambition.

In the later part of life, I learned that there are few thoughts in everyone’s mind, that are supposed to be preserved like a family heirloom, though they are obsolete, though they aren’t of much use or the significance, just to be placed in a dark corner not to erase their existence.

Though it sounds part serendipitous, part enigmatic, part in control, part intractable, it seems like a game to be played void of the knowledge of rules.

It is engraved in the very genes of the human being, to climb the mountain despite knowing that there’s nothing to be done after making it to the summit.

Three souls, though the knots in the same string, thought in different directions and slept in varied orientations like the angles of a triangle.

If you don’t write your own story, you will be a character in others.