The most beautiful words ever written did not stop to look into the mirror.
They flew like Pillai’s eaglet. Did I tell you the story of Pillai’s eaglet? Never mind.
My words look into the mirror and they preen and pirouette for all mankind to see. A life on a mm of paper, a lifetime on a square of ink. Lived, spent, loved, ignored.
The mirror is a wall, an obstacle, an impediment. It makes you retrofit beauty.
The concept of absolute has just been diluted. There is no absolute. Relativity is cool and purity an empty ideal.
And who is to tell me what I must believe? Why must I believe? I have to switch to keep my sanity. If movement be akin to disloyalty, so be it.