Impressions

Is there an impression on your heart that tries to steal your every emotion and brings it back to a point of completion. A completion that feels like satisfaction and ambition mixed. Wanderlust, is one such mine, and not to argue with anyone, my intentions are all pure just like every other wandering soul, resembling to the clouds of summer and lighter heart than those blossoms of April.

An urge to profile each place with one’s eyes and a passion to settle only when there’s a guarantee of more. The tension to feel, a climbing curiosity to experience the difference between the view of the gray skies from a terrace and its same expanse viewed from that one peak of the Himalayas. A meditating journey, mostly ending with shedding of one’s common status quo and accompanying the self that remains positively yours, which remains mine. A sweet smile fills up the laughter inside the rooms which had been made for the materialistic presence and participation, with a relevancy to care for one’s own; which stays intact than to find a lost reality outside on these lanes of delusional expectations. It’s selfish and satisfactory. It’s as simple as taking a moment to breathe under the morning sun and as worth it as accumulating millions of years, to be spent in another few years. I bought a ticket to go out of this city today, to come back and go again.