Upon one lazy evening...

Life, the strangest of all stories, isn't it? Each bend and a new twist, one more realisation, another acceptance, a tinker of joy and yet another heartbreak. Life, to me, seems like a wild horse, electrifying in all its vitality and exuberance, yet untamable, the more you try to hold on to its reins, the more you are likely to fall. Or it might even be like a still, calm mountain lake, each event a ripple on its surface and to grasp it is useless; you have to accept its fluidity and cup your hands accordingly. Should sadness and happiness be disturbances, imposters trespassing into life which is defined by serenity, we belong to the imposters as much as we do to life. One cannot classify like that for life is all encompassing, and unfair too, for we cannot choose the elements we like best and leave the rest for someone else. It needs must be that things happen when we expect it the least and surprise us with the recognition of our helplessness infront of life's caprice.
Fortunate is he, blessed with the absence of these musings, unaware that life cannot be planned and charted into neat grids and that the best we mortals can do is to bow our heads infront of life's mighty awesomeness and admire silently, paying our tributes.