Humans are made up of flash, blood and heartbeats. If asked what is more important, we fail to answer. They are all interconnected.
Now, the heartbeat has been the source of numerous poems, prose and ballads.
But what keeps the heartbeats going?
Memories, moments, stories?
I am not trying to deal with the scientific aspects of it.
Memories, moments, stories.
Just the human aspects.
The human aspect of living is making stories.
Stories of first blush, first love, stories of heartbreak, of strength and honor, stories of raindrops, of your vintage books, stories of childhood and of growing old.
Stories are little heartbeats, pocketed in time.
Which we can tell anyone, write whoever we want.
Etched in the stone left to be discovered after centuries, or scribble in a papyrus scroll and box it up to be treasured by time and dust or bottle it up and throw it into the ocean for the someone on the other side to fish it out and feel hopeful avout life.
Stories are as many as there are human emotions.
Have you ever tried? Counting the human emotions and putting it in a box, locked and stored?
Not possible, is it?
It breaths,
Of style and simplicity
brings in the renaissance of human empathy through it concise, incisive and creep narration.
Putting in the worldly pomposity never makes a good story;
putting in your experiences, feelings and vulnerability makes it a relatable one. It catches the eyes, touches the soul and makes you age with grace.
Stories are the sobriquet of Life.
Humans
are made
up of flash, blood and
heartbeats
. If asked
what is more
important
, we fail to answer. They are all interconnected.
Now
, the
heartbeat
has been the source of numerous poems, prose and ballads.
But
what
keeps
the
heartbeats
going?
Memories, moments, stories?
I am not trying to deal with the scientific aspects of it.
Memories, moments, stories.
Just
the
human
aspects.
The
human
aspect of living is making stories.
Stories of
first
blush,
first
love
, stories of heartbreak, of strength and honor, stories of raindrops, of your vintage books, stories of childhood and of growing
old
.
Stories are
little
heartbeats
, pocketed in time.
Which we can
tell
anyone, write whoever we want.
Etched in the stone
left
to
be discovered
after centuries, or scribble in a papyrus scroll and box it up to
be treasured
by time and dust or bottle it up and throw it into the ocean for
the someone
on the other side to fish it out and feel hopeful
avout
life.
Stories are as
many
as there are
human
emotions.
Have you ever tried? Counting the
human
emotions and putting it in a box, locked and stored?
Not possible, is it?
It
breaths,
Of style and simplicity
brings
in the renaissance of
human
empathy through it concise, incisive and creep narration.
Putting in the worldly pomposity never
makes
a
good
story;
putting in your experiences, feelings and vulnerability
makes
it a relatable one. It catches the eyes, touches the soul and
makes
you age with grace.
Stories are the sobriquet of Life.