#everyday thoughts

People say Japanese people are kinda shy. I think I’m less shy than most… but next to Tumblr users, I might still be kinda shy.

And yet—Japanese people love hot springs. Sharing a bath with total strangers? Totally fine. 😄

Apparently, chatting online is harder than sitting in the same bath, me as well.

Made this sketch... All of it is made of strokes of my pen plus the movements of the road...

Many thoughts fill my brain as the ink flows onto the paper

Stream🍃

A stream of thoughts

Flooding my brain

Trickles of ink

Drawing pictures in my mind

Shiny black trickles

Forming some paths

Painting my dreams behind my eyes.

Droplets of thought

Globs of feelings

Turning myself into what I am.

Flowing in many directions

Sometimes at Will

Sometimes just odd

Choosing their own inflections.

A stream of thoughts...

Trickles of heart...

but have we ever read, or written, or heard, or talked about the considerations one might have while doing so? out of the thousand thoughts that might stop an artist from letting their passion flow, one of them is this argument in them, - will any person, who ever happens to stumbles upon my piece of work ever perceive it the way i do?

whenever a person gives birth to any form of art, their face has a certain expression, their soul has a certain emotion, their heart beats a certain way, their mind beams with different ideas, their art becomes a concoction of every little piece of what they are at that moment. and will it ever occur, that someone, someday, out there, feel the same, and become a coalesce of it.

this for a matter of fact, is a futile desire, cause every person in existence will have a different blend of emotions whenever they witness something, and even though some of them might aling with the creator, it might result in a complete different embodiment of its own.

you see how the same coffee bean can be used to define different types of this beverage you’ll happen to taste, just depending upon its concentration, and the amount of milk and water, and sugar being used. can you relate with me here?

today morning, an old friend texted me one of their poems, and asked me if it made me feel anything, to which i agreed. i also happened to tell them what i grasped from it, to which they told me, it was different from the actual idea they had, and we talked about how beautiful it is, every person who consumes art, has their own unique way, which makes it so beautiful, and precious, and pure.

another thought which made my heart feel heavy, and saturated - isn’t it the same with love?

it’s a single word, it’s a single emotion, yet has endless number of ways, and boundless depths to it. and this makes me both ecstatic, as well as melancholic.

ecstatic because i had my own way of loving you, my ways of showing how blood rushed through my veins whenever i thought of you, my ways of confessing my passion for you, my ways of affirming my devotion, my ways of surrendering, my ways of helplessness, my ways of being fond, my ways of holding on, my ways of loving you, my ways of still clasping onto it, so tight that i’ll succumb if i ever slacken the grip.

melancholic because i wonder if you ever felt the same way? was your existence swayed the same way as mine? was your faith amended the same way as mine?

of course you had your own ways, but did you ever sheerly absorb mine?

i’m scared here because maybe i never did yours, it’s not like i didn’t want to, but i had my own ways of devouring, just like you had yours.

and even though i stick to my latte most days, i still adore your recipe of cappuccino the same, and would savour it anytime, any day, irrespective of the caffeine kick it’d end up giving me. and no matter what hour it is, i’d make you a very warm, and soothing latte, just as divine as you are.