...are like flowers on the floor. Waiting to be picked, waiting to be cherished. We live in search of a traced route that stays in track. A common and peaceful way of getting together happiness. We seek everyone's eyes for a reflection. A mirror of our beauty and, nonetheless, of our self pity. To be loved, to be ignored.
And he simply waits outside the door. Screams the pavement. Like an hurricane he fights the common, the ordinary. To live outside the circularity of vision is to be engulfed by timeless memories of void.
And he sinks. And we watch. And we drown. And we get along just fine. Nothing that a tear doesn't wash away. Profoundly ours. Profoundly.
Our hands get together, high in the sky and we simply draw our hearts in our hearts. His heart is the shadow of our self. A vision with no encounters. A bold vision of oblivion.
But he screams! yes, he screams! Oh yes he screams! So loud, loud, loud! And we fuel our pace with ignorance. And we go. And we never come again.