Posts. Some are in one direction. In a flow , not waiting to breathe. A staccato of words. Some join hands and the central thought is strengthened by association. Like the complex structure of an aromatic compound. Some. Simmer slowly. Taking time to breathe. To watch lazily the snaking smoke. To watch the thoughts getting charred as they convert to words. In the end an ensuing reality with the phantom of thoughts still lingering like a lost face in memory.
Posted on: Thu, 23 Oct 2014 15:29:19 +0000
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