There’s something about people when they talk about their passion and dreams, when they choose to open the crevices on their minds and let the unfurling shadows of their longstanding desires come clean on the facade of their being in a wilful way. It is a sobriquet for serenity. They are so vulnerable at the moment, so desperate that the time around them nullifies in coherence and all that’s left for naked eyes to see is infinite amount of hope and indelible want of the fruition of their dreams. It is so beautiful to look at the center of their head, right above the nose and see no lines. With gargantuan expectations from the self and a sliver of fear of losing that encompasses their heart radiates actuality and pragmatism, something that’s more of human than others. How benign can humans get when they talk about dreams and something that they choose all by themselves, choose with all honesty so much so that they muster the courage to realise them with sheer enthusiasm, something that refuses to die down.
I would ask you to look at the eyes of such people, the heat will get to you. And so will absolute beauty.