Realism in the practical world is a notion , which has blurred our consciousness and psyche in myriad ways .
We strive for truth , but find it aversive , the moment we find it.
Realism is a thorny rose , which tries to abrade the skin of fantasy , once you caress it with utmost excitement and hope . It’s not futile to go through the process , just not a rosy endeavour.
When I sowed that seed of innocence and empathy into the soil-bed of my consciousness , it failed to thrive . But when the same seed was nurtured by expectations / desires/Normalcy/love/emotional indifference of others , the seed of life grew .
It grew to be a tall plant , blossoming now and then . But as a Gardener , I wasn’t happy .
You may ask why ?
The tree wasn’t a strong one , tall but hollow , full of senescent leaves , not well rooted .
She was aging prematurely.
One day , a storm came , circled around it and disappeared into a thin stream of air .
She was standing there , but without a soul now . She was gone .