Life...a chain cycle of blooming and dying fruit.
Romantic Distaste I'm always thinking that the sky stays the same, day and night, colors vary but the looks don't. Then, I stop dreaming that the color of the sky is blue when I got lost in the middle of somewhere from where her heart used to be. She loves telling me what I wanted to hear; I listen to it everyday as if it was the music in a melodramatic theater. The beat is gone: I find myself in this place, miles from nowhere frighten. The breathtaking sway pattern of a pendulum and its color of gold and silver encompass the exquisite pattern of black and white roses stained by time, which I refer to as my luscious beauty. I adore and admire those. It reminds me of the time when my day begins with the eager urge of drowning myself with indulgence of her thought while smelling the anemones being dispersed everywhere; she's my pendulum. Roses and sunflowers, the