By the book of arithmetic, we are able to derive the underlying mysteries hidden from us that not only entertain and satisfy but also augment our desire for the time ahead. If life is full of joy and if there is nothing to grieve, our invisible sentiments silently combine, mature and jut at us, as if they were born to hurt deeply. The exquisite drama that every time plays in front of our eyes and that it is our incompetence to perceive the overall meaning of it. The situation cannot be overlooked; it requires a deep understanding of the fact that a person is born as an unusual and ordinary sculpture who is vacant from inside, a portrait of disruption and harm.
Many people have an irregular or rough outline of their expectations, as these are devoid of affirmations. These expectations just dwell around all the time as images, feelings and memories, but we are generally incapable of evoking them. Soon crops up a situation of mingled experiences of later past. Now that all the excitements, dramatic vitality, emotional shifts, lively moments and undying affection collapse inwardly with recurrent ominous anticipation. Though the indeterminate dark shade of intense expectation cannot be dismissed, it strongly becomes a nest of countless emotions.
The paradox of creation is the prominence of both originality and particularly desire or lust. Defying the dilemma that divides the social character and the ability of exertion from a person, one can freely enjoy the rapture of friendship, marriage, and personal fulfillment. The problem is crystallized in the recurrent perplexity which is inseparable from us, though it resides always deeply and remains as long as we are carried away by irresponsible conjecture.
Admittedly, the normal life is sometimes marred with impetuous sensationalism; but the intense psychology and the vexed characterization of a person bring him or her to suicidal death. As hearsays suggest, the plot of life provides a chance to enliven the coordinated structure systematically; but with pure suggestions, it is simply an ocean of worries. The feelings are enough to gauge about one's reality and to determine the critical overturn of decisions, one's physicality, and emotional appearance is sufficient. Finally, the representatives or the causes of social disruption remain undiscovered till the worries eat up the victim wholly. At last, the remains of tears readily ignore the utter desire for expectations!
"One's life is as light as a feather; one's passions are deep, the more he gives, the more he has; for both are infinite."