i wonder if everyone is affected the same, as i, by the stories. Those of a world far away in the mountains and forests; Caradhras or the Mirkwood, those of a stick of wood and the curse that it cast of a little boy with a green flash, those of the abstract word of love, those of the dark and unsettling tragedies, of those chambers with gas of green, those of the piano black in color under the tips of a polish, the walk of a deadman to the noose ironically called by the happy and calm color of green, green mile. those of a father and a daughter who grew older than her dad, those of a scientist and two magicians, those of man longing to go back to his country and is haunted by his wife, those of triangle and those of a guy who thought Apple was a fruit company, of an afternoon with a dozen men angry and trapped in a room, of a young navy lawyer who is too cool to play by the rules, of the son who never wanted to be the father to all the crime, and of the officer who ran to catch a man buying model airplanes and making money off its stickers. of the journalist pursuing to be the someone who can get that salute from Satan himself and of those of numbers and sheets that fucked america and the world after, of a man in a cave beating metal, a scientist who is angry, of a man with a long smile on his lips all the time, and of those little ones who can kill for a banana, i wonder if everyone is brightened by the stories of inspiration, that of win and train and compete, not always in the game but in life. those stories of relentless pursuit of being happy, the continuous step in action towards freedom from the walls of a city or walls of a prison. the characters go glamorous or often just like a little schoolkid in 7th grade.
these stories have a part of me safe in them. this part i revisit every single time i read them or see them. the part that calls me from a time in my life, when many things were different. i remember not just what the story made me feel when i had read it back then but also all those characters of vivid personalities makes me feel happy and excited all the same time.
It is where i escape once i start reading one, and then where i’m doesn’t matter no more. be it a local packed with people or in the car on a highway on a soothingly cold Friday afternoon, or maybe by a lake an hour before sunset with a tumbler of iced coffee and a pack of smokes, its all the same because i get involved in the story and literally forget everything else.
Isn’t this is how meditation is supposed to feel like?
theThoughts 