The sound of surrender was deafening with the fate perching on the top of that rocky mountain, watching that lone eagle, just released, on its unending expedition, mocking at the ego which takes a bungee jump and knows that the last point of return does not exist.
In the untruth of the moment, a hollow consolation in longing was sensed as a higher bliss than wearing the mask of togetherness in a named whirlpool.
Written on Saturday, October 16, 2004
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