What is it that makes us think of something infinitely hard to understand?
Why is it that sometimes we have a stray of thought that makes us vulnerable to all things that makes us bleed inside, hurts us?
Of all the things that makes us human, how far are we to the monsters that lurks in the shadow of our own very being?
Isn't it so hard to understand the very basic of all? That inside this frail and weak vessel we are in, we have a heart and soul that keeps us thriving to ascend beyond what we try to comprehend, to take us to our destined place, a point in the tapestry of time, an epoch of enlightenment within us, a time to understand the meaning of our very own existence.
That we ought to live on so as not to compromise the destiny we sealed for ourselves.
Too much of the words......
These memoirs written initially in papers and now electronically in a blog we now call are meant to serve to me as reminders of what's in my mind and the thoughts I like to render through writing.
These are the same memoirs that I'll read time in time again. It would be a reminder of the state of my mind I'm in when I get to outlast the very moment I'm stuck in, the repercussions of things to come will serve as a subservient moments in my life that these memoirs where my creations I endowed, will remind me one day that I live a life where in every direction, something pulls me in a wayward projections that I myself would never have the ability and capacity to comprehend.
What makes a man see his life pulled in every direction?
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