Origins and destinations

One never quite knows the origins of certain things.

A solitary kite fluttering in the sky, being pulled in opposite directions at its head and tail, fighting against the hollow wind but trying its best to remain a singular entity. Or a lazy ship sailing aimlessly near the horizon, a dark silhouette against the final reddish orange glow of dusk, about to vanish into oblivion any moment soon. Or a light airy feather that blows across a street at its own pace, manages to caress just the right spot on a cheek, then bids adieu just as soon as it arrives. Or a train that chugs in from behind, runs parallel to, engaging in a hasty conversation with yours, realizes the need to hurry once the tracks diverge, its size diminishing slowly as it distances, till at last it wanes to just a spot on the landscape. Or the infinitely contained human mind, full of varying thoughts, of realist hopes and digested despairs, of fulfilled aspirations and unrealised dreams, of celebrated happiness and mourned losses.

One never quite knows the destinations of certain things.