The psyche of irrationality, you call it a dream

When you say ‘dream’, it imparts a strange notion in me. I think it’s what the souls do when they feel they are special. People dream only when they think of themselves to be distinctive.

Everything beyond this range of consistency is superficial.  Strange dreams.

Of course they are strange. Some leave you before the outset, some take pleasure in fleeing right exactly in the middle. But if there is one, if, which won’t abandon you, I would call it ‘the dream’ – true dream. And the essence is simple: first you make it yours then it guards the patronage.

I have always believed in rationality. Still sometimes people say the skill to categorize delusive and reasonable thinking in me is somewhat below that of a pragmatic man. I stand bewildered. More of it, the whole world is dealing with practicalities except me.

My head’s in pain.

People dream because they are special, if you know what I mean.

Nothing is reserved in this world, let alone some moments which make you elegantly happy. A certain visions are worth looking for. Proceeding towards the light makes us only more sure.  I see no harm. So, if its irrational to weigh dreams in terms of a journey, no matter how long and how arduous, I am comfortable being doubted.

Sometimes it’s far, far away from just reaching to the summit, rather failing doing so is rejoicing too.

What to a dream is not certainly about the consequences, but may be living it. And times when you are denied a dream, its utter stupid to just grieve in the wake of a loss; cherish it for you dreamt when you felt special.

For the tolling bells, it’s all a close knitted entanglement which may never let you fall if you keep your stand. Irrationality is when you yourself cut out.