V

In the deep lurks an immense reservoir of senses, where emotions past and present mingle to form a complex compound that is as opaque as it is fluid. Each experience is distilled to its purest form and flows into this vast space, and is returned as a learning, a judgment or a belief.

The walls appear solid and near impossible to breach, and shimmer protectively whenever confronted with corrosive situations and souls. But it doesn't take long for the wind to flow in reverse, and the vitriol to seep into the reservoir. Over a longer period of time, as it accumulates, the vitriol starts corroding from within and makes it way outwards. And the world around a seemingly peaceful depth is surprised by this, not realizing that this is the same acid that they had sent in the first place.

At the surface, the eyes twinkle and laugh and yet pierce effortlessly through the fake armors of the world around, laying bare the insecurities, the hopes, the aspirations, the subtle desires, the machinations, the aggression. These follies flow back and contaminate the very soul that looked upon them askance earlier, leaving the eyes dulled and in pain.

A joyous soul tries to find harmony in the world around, balancing the deeper needs of that reservoir with the practical need of the surface, trying to build relationships that last, to find meaning in the mundane. And every so often, the joyousness starts feeling a little forced, and the balance goes awry, and the puzzlement and confusion shows up, translating into a maelstrom of words and thoughts that create art. 

The mind is that of a man, the heart of a child. The push and the pull continues to a point where the soul tires itself out, and then halts, leaving in its place a silence and an emptiness that can heal and desolate.

Beauty is relative. And a state of mind. Harmony is a desire. Emotions are the baggage. Art is a prison and a liberation. And love. Love is stimulus. Love is relief.