What we want is not always desirable nor within our reach. Does this stop us?

You know your destructive comments only hurt yourself. We are not the one with steroidal side-effects. Please don’t take this literally cause it’s not. And no I am not talking about YOU, you.

You slave for tangible elements yet you do not live. No wonder you can easily close your fists and open your mouth. Let’s not wonder what goes in there. We don’t want to know.

You, on the other hand, make me smile. After all the pinches and punches. Thank you for being there.

Maybe a little more cleaning will make it better.

…of all the possibilities.

The scope is unimaginable…with such monstrosity and wonder.

Maybe in the joy of others, we’ll find peace.

Curiosity. This may be the one of the reasons for all your actions, and for mine. Yes, every ounce is lethal but I willingly take it to my system. Someone once said, “if it wasn’t said out loud, then it would have been alright. But it was stated, and now it’s eating you alive — slowly but surely.”

It’s fun to see this in a different perspective — lighter with more fluff. There’s no reason not to laugh at it either. Stupidity with a dash of self-humiliation. Isn’t it funny how life is such a comedy?

It’s the life being fed out of you that you willingly take away from hypocritic crowds. It helps but it’s not enough. Anger rests in the bottom of this well. Don’t throw too many coins or it might grant your wish.

Thanks for putting me under your spell. I’m learning to hate it.

Swine flu seems to be the best option right now.

One more till the Berlin falls.

Thanks, friend. You slapped me back to reality. You deserve a gazillion PSPs.

Like sand on my hands, I try to pick as much as I can up to no avail. For both right and wrong reasons I try to pick up each grain, and every time I fail.

There is no certainty whether the sun might decide to pull everything down with it, or if it will simply say goodnight. Everybody says it has done the same thing since the beginning. Tonight, to our surprise, it paints.

Like the orange-violet gradient on the horizon, it is hard to tell where each color ends or begins. Each color is distinct but the flow from one to another makes it one.

Lullabies from the wind drown the light. There’s no chorus. There are no lines. There’s only continuous crescendo. Similar to the flight but more enchanting than the impromptu. Numbers of symphonies humans have created are no match to this. Until it dies.

Silence.

Then come little murmurs that spring to life the tiny sparkles of the newborn darkness. No SAT score nor GPA can explain this. Not even the most literate person in the guiness book of records can describe it.

Like the little boy who first discovers that he can fly. Or the little girl who learns that she really is a princess.

There exists not a word in this lifetime to explain this rupture.

Maybe it’s that little second when your heart stops and everything in this world shuts up.