Time and time again it strikes me, how the things that most fascinates us,
holds the most meaning for us, for the longest time,
are the things we can't put a name to, can't define.
Not so much for their elusiveness, because curiousity only spans so far;
(And the mind, the mind never fails to bring reasons good enough to let go when our heart knows it's forever beyond reach)
Rather, a presence intangible, incompassible, unforgettable.
A sudden glimpse, a flickered flame, a sudden whisper that says, "maybe it's time you stop trying to know what I am, and just experience this."
What's in a name?
just a name in itself.
We hold precious the things that seem most ephemeral, fickle and fragile.
Little do we know, it's the strings of wonder we tie to it that makes the very same thing unalterable, untainted and powerful, perennially for us.