Live.

I do not want to flow. Flow between what the world defines as appropriate and what society expects you to do, out of the ever persisting fear of consequences.
Despite being a strong believer in karma, being defined by the fear of my actions is not what I envision my life to be.

It is almost like muting your true self to fit into this mould of an ideal human being. Your soul burns up and withers away while you chase the fire of purity and ideal existence.
Why don't you just impart the requisite amount of importance to this mould (which is none, since society created this mould anyway?)
Why don't you live exactly how you want to?

Love is...

You activate parts of my heart that I didn't know existed. Watching you breathe, slows down the pace of my life. It's incomprehensible to be in the same room as you and not touch you. This isn't lust, its love. A glorified support system.

I see people my age, questioning love, questioning how real is love, pretending it's a utopian entity. And I feel sorry for them. I feel sorry and I feel blessed that I can experience what it feels like to make an eye contact in a crowded shop with someone and sense a cosmic wave pass between you two (no exaggeration.)

Love is not unreal. Love is not a lie. And sit your punk ass down and stop pretending like love is a straight up depression inducing drug. Maybe you just have not experienced it correctly. I'm not saying I have a really perfect relationship, I've terribly sad days too but even on those sad days, I know how strong this abstract notion makes me.

Love doesn't make the world look more beautiful, it gives you sustenance to live through the ugliness or the strength to beautify it.

Maybe this post makes people categorise me as cheesy, unscientific, or even emotional. I don't give much thought to the label, as long as I'm wholly experiencing something so different and positive.

Honesty(?) Is the best policy

I am a little scared of myself.
I don't know how honest am I with myself and that bothers me endlessly. I need to know do I know myself best and unfortunately only I know whether I know myself best.
Dishonesty is unpardonable but more so when it is with your own self.
I am getting older and realising that there is no constructive, solid answer to most things.
And it makes me miserable, because in my love for the non ambiguous life, I've transformed my entire life into one big quest for concrete, defined answers.

Lack of boundaries, befuddles me.
I'm not ready for it. And that is why, I think I'm in so much pain.

I try finding more and more stars in the night sky in a city which is dying with pollution. I live with a sense of incomprehensible entitlement, with respect to the universe. I believe it will never harm me. And then this limitlessness, harms me. Hurts me. And I feel ashamed about my sense of entitlement.