Some thought-like perceptive things become great lovers of our minds. One of mine are the golden leaves from Winnie the Pooh. It keeps me captivated in poetry and literature. Such warmth do I feel with these elements of the mind that I think of it as the love of my life. I would be heartbroken to lose it. I find that more joy reaches me through myself than from the outside world. My mind shows me a larger world than my eyes do. Does that mean I'm trapped in illusions? I find that these illusions still show a more thorough picture of the world than what I see. Or this is just wishful thinking. I guess I don't mind - at least I deny the truth for something more interesting than the average man.
This would be the reason why I'm living in a world constructed by my mind and willfully choosing so.
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Now that we've learned to play with fire
1 comment:
Ma naudin seda kuidas sa mõtled
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