I always considered that being honest to one's feeling is a natural phenomenon but I was wrong. 

Why on earth some people are heartless and continue to exist? I want to cry.

In the stillness of the night, flute is playing in my room on my speakers. Sound of flute has always attracted me. The moonlight appears to have frozen. This rainy, solitary night and the notes of the flute feels like coming from far away as sweet as a dream.

Sometimes I feel, our life is also like a flute -- empty and void in itself but at the same time having a limitless capacity for melodious notes. But it all depends on the player, on us. Life becomes what we make it; it is one's own creation. It is merely an opportunity. What type of song one wants to sing is entirely one's own decision. This is the dignity and freedom we all possess, that we all are free to sing songs of both heaven and hell, happiness and sadness. Everyone can create divine notes on their flute; it is only a matter of practicing a bit with the fingers. A little practice and the attainment is immense. The empire of infinite bliss is attained without doing anything.

I wish to take up my flute and sing my song, forever. I know, time is going fast so I don't want to miss the opportunity before the curtain falls on me.

In reality, there is no past and there is no future. The past exists
only in the memory and the future exists only in the imagination.

The evening seems to have come to a standstill.
The westbound sun has long since gone behind the clouds
But the night has not set in yet.
There is solitude outside as well as inside.
I am alone -- neither is there anybody outside, nor inside.

I discovered today, I don't have any special talent.