Every day is a story to tell.
I can say…
When the clouds begin to dark and the wind hovers fast. The thunders roar.
People rush. People calm down. The city begins to grumble. The farm begins to bop and that old poor fisherman rows fast.
I seat at the forth porch and watch the rain goes down. T’was a lullaby. Every raindrop makes a sweet refrain. Caffeine, nicotine, pen, paper, memories…the rain could be a perfect time to write a lovely poem or a bitter sweet story.
Just so how the rain comes to different people. The world is an assortment of relativity.
I love. They hate. They hate. I love.
Given fact. Need acceptance. No need to be bothered. Individuality. Circumstances.
A fiend, a defense, a defeat, a victory.
It chooses and creates reactions.
Anatomically seated on the hypothalamus. It motivates. It personalizes. It moves. I have it. You have it. You either control it or it controls you. It identifies love, happiness, joy, euphoria and also pain, grief, hate, anger, jealousy, envy and so on.
I am Nocturnal
The night calms me down, brings me down, brings me up, feasts me up, freezes me up and heats me up.
The moon comes in red and blue. The stars shine brightly and in some nights they just corrode.
I’ve touched the moon, I touch it. I kissed it and kiss it. I never stop adoring it. The countless stars glitter my endless night.
I saw the brightest star. I touched it, I touch it. I kissed it, I kiss it. But I can’t adore it. The moon outshines it.
In that strange world far beyond this world of mine. I would have my night with two moons. Cuddling me at that most lonesome night. And I’ll stare at them as if I would have chosen to be dead without them on my most faithful second heaven.
The world is random.
He hates me, he loves me. She hates me, she loves me. Love and hate in each face. Words. Reactions. Colors. Movements. Effects.
Nothing is constant than change and the rest is...randomness.