Life's a pleasant tradition. Life's wing is as vast as death. Life's a jump the size of love. Life's not something, we put on the mantel of habit and forget. It does not matter where I am. The sky is always mine. Windows, ideas, air, love, earth, all mine. Why does it matter if sometimes, the mushrooms of nostalgia grow? Let's take off our clothes. Water is just a foot away. Let's have a basket and fill it up with all the greens and all the reds. We are not to comprehend; the secret of roses, but maybe swiming in the incantation of roses. Or may be looking for the song of truth between the morning glory, and the century.
