On a typical Saturday afternoon, lounging by a steaming cup of americano...I couldn't help but ponder over this old quote by the legendary Oscar Wilde, I came across a few days back.
Within its context, it implies that great poets pen about the dreams that they can’t live and the ones that manage to realize their magic are too engrossed living the illusion.There is no expression left, as expression and realization happen through action, rather than scribbling on a blank canvas.Beautiful moments lived in discretion and building magic in real is a form of art in itself.
The quote is a self-provoking analogy. As an avid analyzer of things, I can’t bring myself to pour out my beautiful moments to the paper. The recurring truth and the magic that I keep living is destined to be the truth of my reality and the zillions of stories or the truth that floods in my mind or keeps me awake all night are the memoirs I treasure close to my heart and these are the ones that would never see the daylight of life.The magical world...the beautiful stories are within me and are only for me.
Xoxo
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