When Maa is not around.
20 years old, I sit, and make big talks about life miracles and philosophies. Feeling so young in my skin at one end, like I can accomplish all my head can imagine. Where reality is dissimilar - my youth battles it, until one day, or so I presume, old age will tire me out of this battler for new warriors to fight the same way, the same war. Life is a loop. Like a combatant tediously fighting for people and against people (see loop?) I fight impossibilities and perhaps veracity. ‘Simple’ no more a word to me - but that does not refute its existence. It is as it is. Sitting on a cosy sofa in the company of the cool breeze, all aid to the light shower in the evening and plenty so called ‘intellectual’ books on the side table I wonder why I don’t feel as passive as I should with all the ‘apparent’ thrill of young blood running in my veins and the ‘ideal’ noble framing of my scholarly surroundings. I miss simple. I miss simple emotions. I miss affection, love, care, ...