The real you will be written in a corner of a room, hidden underneath a pile of clothes. It would be an adventure to find this place, to look for something that people don't really tend to think about or considering trying to find. But it's there. In all of us. We tend to confuse it as a movement. But it really doesn't move. We, through our actions (unknowingly or even knowingly), actually move away from it as it stays still. And when we look back, the corner's gone. We wonder where it went and we hope to find it again.
Like that hotel we visited years ago, but has somehow shrouded itself through the mist of time. Gone. Replaced by illusions that are beautiful but ultimately impermanent. Non-sustaining. A costly but ignoble monument, made of fortified brick and mortar - and yet, oddly exhausted of its spirit. It leaves your mind once it's beyond your sight.
No comments:
Post a Comment