Limitless

Beautiful have been the days of this year. In them the Ideal has become the Real. First, I had some tormented days last year, and then early of this year I was recuperating from the loss of my morale. The outer covering of my dry knowledge is absolute superimposition, but inside it’s all love. I may not prostrate before anyone, but every breath of mine echoes a serene sense of surrendering. Oh! Well, I can’t tell you the feeling when you know there is always someone looking for you, more or less same feeling when I was a child and fully depended on my mother, though in this case, the sensation is more voluntary.

I feel a devotion that would be one with the humblest and most ignorant, and if you see through my eyes, of course, if there is no criticism, you perhaps laugh over the colossal caprice of my heart. I understand pain is a part and parcel of our lives, but sorrow would be lifted into a golden womb if we follow our hearts.

There are moods, plenty of these always, changing with varied circumstances, in which new faiths are born. Listening to us, talking to ourselves and refusing none develop the feeling of love.