Don't remember the context at all, nor the source. Nothing in fact as to what must have made me scribble these lines so many years ago. Must've been that bout of insanity that drags me into the realm of the absurd.
But even today when I happened to stare onto these lines flipping through an old, forgotten, non-descript note book of the distant past, they struck a chord somewhere within........ as if I'd written, or had wanted to write this today, may be right now.
"I am not going to argue."
"You won't argue, but you won't admit your mistake either. Why do you stick to it so ? And however sharply you may recollect now, you would, I dare wager, forget everything if you were to talk to him. You would approach me for not having refuted you more effectively now. If he so much as talks about a book. He's instantly ecstatic about everything beautiful .............."
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