Sometimes we get so fixated on our own idea of happiness, we let it pass us by when it appears before us, in a different form.

Forms we never dared envision, nor ventured close, to even a mild understanding of its construct. As if they were alien figures.

Nirvana exists as a wavelength, where in perpetuity, it is attained and lost almost simultaneously

As if in the entirety of our fulfilment, loosely based of material, rendered intangible achievements redundant.

What we have perceived, an abstract chord high strung on perpetual perfectionism, wringing us dry.

Big things come and go, It is the little things that define us.

It is the little ones that outrun us.