I am but flesh and blood, wired with chemically boosted juices of emotions, innate sense of self-preservation, self and moral consciousness. We often mistook the pump of life that is our heart, as the fountain of them all, and conveniently so. Or perhaps, there is valid reason, for the pump beats as hard as they demand.
I think it would take something of a small miracle for any being to possibly fathom this entry completely. Well for one, I could not quite grapple with it. So it is quite feasible for a writer to write about anything, yet confirm nothing. I suddenly feel like I have got away with a unscrupulous literary crime.
PS: Written at office workstation with stolen moments amid towering paperwork.
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