My heart is always suffering with an unquenchable, unconscious never ending thirst for a perfection, for a certain quality, for the purity of development, it takes so many discourages when I flutter my views.
But the texture of my reality follows the contours of approximation, things hover around and emotions, ideas, concepts and predilections just flow in an anarchy of form and structure. The anarchy lies in the sense of me ,not to blame others without being perfect to myself.
Observations never match hands with expectations.
I want to accept this, not fight with it.
Observations never match hands with expectations.
I want to accept this, not fight with it.
Anyhow I have to flow in an jumpy bumpy stream of life satisfied with what I received....
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