“Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.” – Simone Weil
Stone steps lead up to a place I am yet to see. Dealing with the quietness interrupted intermittently by sweet songs of the birds, I continue ahead. My mind usher some unwanted thoughts and force me to dwell on and on and on, until I refuse, pause and take a deep breath. Don’t inquire for I don’t know why I am smiling, but I am and it has opened the collection of happy memories. Beaming face feels like being in an ocean of flowers. I start knitting happy thoughts with the golden thread of dreams and everything seems possible, the world is mine. A castle is constructed, my reign flourishes in seconds and in seconds I see my downfall. When I gather the broken pieces and stand up, I see the stone steps staring at me. No dialogues are exchanged, and I continue ahead.
When I wake up, I don’t think much of this dream. I am already late to rush into my monotonous routine. The running time never bargains while I always find a reason to bargain, but I haven’t cracked a deal even once.
The whole day I critique myself, like a ritual, except when the dream hushes me-the-perfect and me-the-kind takes over.