I was once a seedling
And you were the sun.
You shed me rays for my photosynthesis
As I extended both my cotyledons
And embraced the warmth you had bestowed.
And now I am a forest.
My branches are strong.
My roots are wild. My trunks are big.
And its all because of you
My sun that warms.

I will paint just like how I kiss.
My lips as the brush
And your skin as the canvas.
I will paint just like how I ***.
My soul as the color
And your body as the scene.

Life is a multiple of happiness and pain
And is divisible by dreams;
The integral of experiences,
And the absolute value of love.
It is the factorial of norms,
And expansion of lies;
The negative reciprocal of death
And the union of real and imaginary
------complex.

Books are meant to be read
Not to be judged
As water to be drunk
Not to be eaten.
Like you,
You deserve to be alive
Not to be dead.
You died for a day
But you lived for years.
Think about it.
It's not worth it.

We extend the line wherever it takes us.
It takes us to the paradise you never imagined.
So am I.
Laughs, hugs, kisses.
Everything is a bit imaginary but real.
Yes, complex.
I expect this would end.
But I never imagined it too soon.
I guess the line takes us to the end.
Our line is not perpendicular any more, not right.
We are absolutely parallel yet we intersect.
I guess the plane is not that vast.
We have connected our dots.
But now, the segment ends.
I just never imagine this too soon.
I hate this part right here.
But you wish too.

No color,
No brush,
No painter,
Can ever paint your dazzling philosophy of life that is written all over your body and soul.

Do you feel it?
Do you feel me?
Do you love it?
Tell me.
Tell me how much you like it.
I love you.
And I wanna do this to you.
I want us to this everyday.
Hmmm.