Have you ever imagined that one day the voices inside your head were fighting, your imaginary friend was running with a scissor in its hand, and at one point one of your personalities wandered off for the reason that somehow you had just proposed to...
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There were umpteen turns of events where it felt as if the music was enlightening my head how to drift in a soulful flow—how to be easygoing, serene, just bluntly carefree. It was as though the soothingly shifting tone touched each anthologized part, a sort of melded acoustic massage for my mind. It was a soft incitement for mellowness and to feel the refrained reality of myself, the unusual ever-patient version of me who waited to be heard, and was contented by perfectly listening, regardless. There were dropped instance that light, wind, and nature did the equal, yet differently, each in their own natural accord. Perhaps the added effect of the sun rays that pecked from the large wooden windows like a colorful company, not waiting for an invitation, inspired by the golden illumination of the sun that never perished made everything more—vivid and vibrant. Our smiles were indeed vignettes than some random recap, for it could doodle such uncertain four letters; a blushing confusion that could bring the underlying stream of hope; each smile could entitle words as transcendent as to last all the days of temporariness.
Deep... Indeed...
I just couldn't stop flashing a sweet gummy smile at the sight of those printed Polaroid beetling aesthetically on this timeworn wooden wall. There were bounteous prolific prints of artistically photographed cities in different parts of the world, candid profile shots, and of course, unique classy poise with abstracted emotions lingering on each. It was like a metamorphose art—the kind that brought delight with a fairytale-like trail for a natural lull, like it was part of my deep-rooted emotions—like an abstraction emerging from a veiled worn-out character within me, they had beyond compared ways to communicate within the gravity of my soul—the method they were taken, the purpose why they were clicked behind the lenses. Thousands and thousands of chronicled scenarios, such as snapshots of when we were in our youthful glory, and even some that seemed to have been taken quite recently. But there were two things those photographs screamed in collective: undeniable fair-shared of stares with such feelings, or our never-ending smiles towards one another.
