She loved ugly. "Because we all have the dark side and which is not a Madonna's beauty". But I was talking about the Night. I was lying down looking at his grotesque gestures while sleeping. But he is fine. I looked at the faded blue light coming from a small window. A part of heart said , wake up , its the time to write. Another part said... and thus the heart utters two things and ditches very friendly. I miss her. I miss the old days when she was with me and we talked about heaven and hell , but mostly about the gap between. She loved ghosts and I would become one for her sometimes. Nostalgia. Is such an inadequate word. I miss her sometimes like my own being.

Two hours. Two long. Too much. Yet too less if I sit by a half-closed window and sun rays tickle my eyes play with my hairs and kiss my lips. Too less to thank God for all good he did. Too less to observe the life as it flows. Too less to love each moment as it passes by. We run and run whole life and it is passed in a twinkling of an eye but our soul carries the imprints for eternity. The Soul was an empty vessel when it began its journey but the time allowed Soul to fill itself with pretty flowers, beads, gems and magnificent things. Whole life we keep on fulfilling the needs of body and neglect our soul. Wouldn't it be wonderful to pause for some minutes and give sometime to our Soul. To observe the cycle of universe and feel yourself a part of it. To rise above the petty problems of the day and feel the magnificence of Being. To fly with imagination to the unknown worlds of fairies, kabilas, gypsies, forests, mountains, ocean. To let the...
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