To live is the rarest thing in the world – Oscar Wilde

Stars upon, stars in my eyes. Always a dreamer, she would spin tales and assume shapes of clouds. Days passed by, summer turned into autumn, autumn to spring. Green, yellow and sometimes red too. In her heart there was a whimsical wondering. Sometimes feeling a little blue. 

Her mind turned to her heart one day and asked: who is more important, me or you? Heart replied, let me get back to you! 

Many wondered the same but none so sane, the nights turned to days but no answer came. So she set off in search for something to gain. Oh how she lived and what she saw. Day by day everything turned. Everything was the same but nothing remained same. Her cheeks turned pink, her hair longer and whiter. Yet something remained hidden, almost away from her. Gave up, she did. For she was tired but not the kind that gave up hope, the one that makes you sleep till noon. Home now, she found her peace. Now she would tell tales of her years abroad. Her adventures and what went amiss. Finally as her journey came to pass, she lay on her bed, happy and bright. Her love surrounding her with all its might. As she closed her eyes she realised, answers don’t matter as long as she lived her life! 


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