To the ever falling rainy afternoon, to what you might have become in the meantime of what could have been, to the feminism of trees and flowers in the front of my room, in between the dark clouds are the clinging of hopes of everyone who wishes to go to the places where one could infest and invest their mind with, unless what is found is not what is meant to be, which is proven more than likely, as the drips of your hope may manifest themselves in forms you could hardly imagine. trusting the imminent flow of karma was a novelty one could pertain to but to not live off forever, in the same way a house of cards could simply blown off by the softest touch of anything from the hand of a baby to a crash landing of an airplane which seems more likely to happen as it had happened to twin buildings and the lives that scattered to ashes in those painfully slow seconds of jumping off windows knowing what you haven’t achieved can never be completed now. the psychological wall is high but the chances are never low, in between what could you be is the toying concept of realism and spiritualism confined by the ideologies spoon-fed to you ever since you were a helpless infant creature, and the only way to break through is to stay miles off the warmth of your blanket since there would be no snuggling in what you are facing. a frog may jump as high as the height of rocks would allow it but it would never know how it feels to fly and frustrated itself out of fear of not achieving, yet it found itself in serenity past knowing the progress has no end and chasing the path of light will leave itself forgetting the subtlety of being immersed in the flow of time and time itself, converging with the movements of life and cruising the steps that had been taken and the camps and meals that followed. once in a while being outside the flow of the know is the way to seek and hinder going forth and so what one should imply is the notion of putting another step forward, but who knows how much one would stand such desire when all one knows is the wide space within oneself but not the wide space hampered on the outside. keeping up with others in one thing, and being a good company is another, unless the urgency to know the now has slapped itself in the face of one and the only choice is to self absorb in what everyone would call reality, while there actually is a grotesque idea kept within confined to the level only the transcended conscience could ever connect. keeping the trivial is never essential but otherwise you would not know how it is either trivial nor essential to put into whichever box fits and in the end you are keeping it anyway.