Last Evening was a fab calligraphy of realization. 'TITANIC'- the epic love saga was once again an ever-gluing experience, the trance to continue for days together now. Just can't help it.
Each time, I witness the portrayal of this two incorruptible hearts with untainted craze between, a more matured metaphor for love germinates. This time, its - 'Hope blent with belief'. The ornate arbesque of events that keep cascading chronologically will someway or the other lead to the inevitable commensurate of your life; each event beaing a tell-tale of the hors'd'oeuvre of the disposition veiled within and the morsel of relish that the inner-being craves for; scuttling off the fallacious acumen of self-efficacy that had been feasted upon this far. At a point, it appears legitimate to foster every happening staged so far as a prized setting to scoop out the occult self; whispering its clandestine sublimity impervious to the entire world except to Her discerment. When you eyeball her in the faction; at the backdrop of this delayed miracle of your life, Almighty has made sure you already conceived the flawless genre of your existence in Her presence. Eventually, you start beleiving the implications about your self,cited by Her, sth which appears you already knew but had not percieved until she filled the void; a realization that you had not have enough of your life yet; an addiction without blemish. Such flares debilitate the hooligan sheltered inside, as if being deliberately driven into the sands of time; affloatation in the lost world; renouncement of any logic or reason; the Self cast into an eternal limbo.
Recollecting thy senses, ache in the cerebral wires; sucking deep breath-with hidden wrath of unblinking resentment, the corpse blighted by truculent plights, the feeling of yelling out in loneliness with blood shot rage, yet gulping in the venom. The act of remaining silent in agony; beeps ensuring beneath that the raw time is yet to come. Donn let go. The ever-expediting urge to let out the dichotomy of pain, a pain galvanized with the shell of self-realization of a more heavenly heart that the soul deserves; the craving for the tranquil of a real successful Man, on being the complete Man of a deserving sweetheart. The misty futility of waiting for an absolution.
Bland etiquettes strawing off the sap from sustainence; the cause of pain being the 'Delay' in the 'Meeting'. Yet, hope blend with beleif prevails. The charismatic glares that can rob the breath out of you; receding expressions of the slightest magnitude that can cause ripples of revival; The presence that exasperates the flame within is yet to come; it has to. Not giving up till then.
There flies the kite once again; soaring high into Divinity. :)
