Why

do I write or make an attempt at it? Most of the time, when I try to write something, my mind runs around in search of contents. This seems to be a life without much happening in it. I have seen minds which are treasure trove of information and perspectives. I worship those inquisitive and sensitive minds. Those are minds of people who really live and rather they don't let life bypass them. They always have something interesting to say or write about. There thoughts are not in coherent with the general opinion of the lay man. I like people like that, who voice out who they are really in this jungle of homogeny.