Taking a photo is like being God. You can make that one moment come to a complete standstill. You finally can dictate something. This god, however, is seemingly flawed. That moment of stillness can never be adequately portrayed. Memories will flow back when we look at a photo. But we can never relive the moment. And memories will fade with the wash of time.
Look out of the bus window. It seems as if the world stopped rotating for you. Just when you feel down and dejected, you are comforted by the thought that the world cares for you.
As the bus journey continues, you pass familiar places. Then you think again. And realise, that nothing has very much changed. The world didn't wait. Earth did not stop. You are plunged into a whole pool of impugnment. Who are you to ask for interim ?
Autumn is here. How beautifully the leaves grow old. How full of light and color their last days.
Last days. I love the leaves, I don’t know why. Is it their colors or how they fly? They crunch and crinkle, under my feet. I pile them up and take a leap!
You crunch and crinkle under agony. We are our own god and in every way, we are flawed.
It's time to get drunk with sorrow.
Who am I to plead for time-out ?