You reach halfway through a novel and you realise that its just like your life and then all you want to do is open the last page. You're constantly in search of that happy ending. And then a happier one. We resurface from our ignorance with the apparent realisation of what we want in life only to submerge back. We're gluttons. Thats what we are. And all that is good and beautiful in this world is waiting to be devoured. One fine morning we're all going to wake up and realise that life is not a storybook. Life is not a song. Life is just...life.
I just hope to be more coherent.