Selective Amnesia

Thoughts from 100 feet above ground

A sunray (no, not this one) is almost a physical thing. I can see it, discern its shape, trace its path, and more or less touch it. Or rather, feel it touching me.
Just a general observation.

People confess to me. All kinds of people. All kinds of confessions. From their lovelife to their career. From their school days to how they fought their way through their first job. Folks, I’m honoured. I appreciate you opening up to me. But it so happens that after a point of time, I am so chock full of confessions, I can write half a dozen books. Each 400 pages long. The problem is that none of them stay put, the confessed thoughts. They interact, blend together. Go on dates with each other. I am afraid the confessions see each other so much, they might have kids of their own.

I love the roof of my office building.

Nature intended all things to be circular.