incoherent, incomplete, in-watever

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He lay on his bed unfettered and undressed. Thirty minutes in the bath tub had a way of bringing over him a sense of serene relaxation. It must have something to do with the warmth of the hot water lapping away at the anxieties that build in over time. When he dipped his head into the water upto his ears, he could hear a wholly different world. A steady background music seemed to play, like the score for a spaceship flying across a sci fi movie. A world from another dimesion sliding past and through the realities of our world. Ofcourse that world must be camouflaged with something watery, which is why you hear the other world only when you come together with the water. The drip-drip of the water amplified into a musical arrangement worthy of a masterpiece. It was one of those things that he enjoyed. There was nothing to beat time in the bath with a book cradled in his hands.

He absolutely loved his life. Not that it was spectacular by the definitions of the everyday world. Just that he loved it, loved it for the peaks and loved it for the troughs. Not that he didn't rage and rave during the falls. Just that he was always satiated by the peaks that necessarily follow dips. He had almost everything a man could want - more than enough money, love, respect and a hold on himself. But what did he hold precious?

Sometimes when he saw the lesser endowed he felt hurt. Beggars begging for alms, children beaten up by fattened restaurant owners, the not-officially poor unfortunates who are expected to hold onto their pride despite the blatant misery, people butchered by misfortune and their mourning relatives. He wondered at the sadness flooding the world and wondered when it would come to sweep him away. He knew the floods are unavoidable. He was ready to accept that but what bothered him most was how he would react. Would he scurry like people who ran from the hurricane on the horizon? Would he scream like a drowning man? Or would he merely let go and be washed away like the stones in a brook?

Life was precious but not enough to lock himself up to live forever. Love was precious but not enough to give up his life. Money was precious but only because he needed things that earthly humans needed. The rare glimpses of the beautiful world was precious but not so much as to make him a nature lover. His freedom was precious but there was no such thing as true freedom. So what was he to hold precious?

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