Ends and beginnings are never as circular as they might seem. Well, at least, not at first. Nostalgia is a thing of dreams and damnation. Many a poet has stolen its fragrance to adorn mere words; or used it to display grief and loss and deep regret. But what does one do to a bout of nostalgia that is unnameable. No title fits it, aptly, so fleeting is its source. A mirage, almost there... Even in dreams, a touch, a word, a look, a conversation between souls... is being reduced to a misty moment of an over-worked imagination. Nothing less. Nothing more.
But the battle of wits and grace between ego and soul persists. How does one hold onto something that was never really there, says ego? And how does one let go of something that truly was, says soul? And at what point are we meant to know the difference, say I?
In the beginning ego was left sulky, thirsty, and soul was nourished, gleaming, in pure joy. Now, ego remains to pick up the pieces, saying 'what a mess, i told you so!' while soul dips into the well of muddy tears looking for a drink to make it forget. Or is it to drown out the noise of the ego!
Ha! Says Ego. You see! Ordinary pathos makes a better story than the tales of 1001 Nights, not so?
Soul says No! In that realm where souls take flight, the dance of joy still exists..
You belong to me. And I. Am only. Yours.
Local Council By-Elections April 2017
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