Do not be nostalgic about the future, for how you would think the future would look.

A future which has already been imagined has already been lived.

It is like a paved road, which by definition means someone that is you has already been there before. A paved road leaves no space for diversions or u-turns or abrupt turns. Nothing ever happens just once, what has happened once might not have happened at all. The past is a treadmill built on sands of Jaisalmer, a relentless swirl and shift and whirr and click and only that starts to make sense which was fundamentally absurd. A paved road cannot be constructed from the sand to the sea.

Driving on a paved road makes one complacent. Do not become that. Do not become anything before you become that.

Leave space for uncertainty. For disappointments.

Leave space for nothing.

For the you that is no one.

A plodding loner with nowhere to go and all the time in the world to get there.

The relationship between thoughts and words is one between wounds and scars.

A wound that doesn’t scar is still one.

It’s spring. The leaves are no longer at your feet but they are green and flowering. That’s all that matters. 

 

 

 

 

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