In obscure words she asked him if she would forget him. This was even before she had really embraced him. And fool that he was he said, "yes", not knowing what he said. But she loved fools. Always had. Fools to her were those who thought not of saving themselves when listening to their hearts, fools were those who plunged into the unknown and the known alike and more often than not broke their limbs. But then there is a swagger in their limp. Like crazy men they went about with 'ideas' on their minds and therefore fools to her were rare and fools to her were courageous. He was not a fool - this she had known since long. But this act of his was that of a fool and she smiled at his foolness. No, not foolishness. She had no patience with the foolish, the dumb and the slow."
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Perhaps you can only like music and love words or love music and only like words. You cannot love both. If one has to be a lover of these two ideas at all - one is either born to be an ardent lover of music or an ardent lover of words. But not both. You'd know the risk in both. You'd know how both can mislead. But you'd have made that choice, subconsciously perhaps, or it may be that your choice would have already chosen you.
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"These days my mind closes itself at my will. This never happened before. But the more people I meet with who I cannot Talk, the more closure I get. I come down a ladder or two from who I am and then simply 'deceive'"
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What if you meet your extra-marital lover even before you've met the one you'd marry?
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There are times when I can observe the orbit of my own growth (or degeneration, as it were). At times I am removed from the scene. I hate to use the word, but yes, futuristically. I haven't yet reached there, but I know which binds will be broken and which I would stop caring about. Already a lot seems unfastened. I sit on the edge of my seat and watch.
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