Through the Night

Deep down inside, if you really want to experience, and experience the damned fucking contentment of life, what your mind feels and what your heart thinks would gradually become irrelevant. You wish to budge things along, as they would want you to, needlessly trying to keep everyone happy; but haven’t you realized; your baggage full of empty windows, and broken mugs, and untouched possibilities and compromised dreams, and disregarded sacrifices, and pictures, and wishes, and cards and gifts and carefully folded gift papers, and pictures and text messages and… blank text messages…

You got to move. Real. Forward. But not being frenzied. Appreciate the craft. Add. Lose yourself, in it.

How else would you correlate delirium and meditation? And haven't you realized, they always go together.