Piercing veils of the cracked smiles, an airy aura of simpler tendencies with gentler desires. The romantics to add to the colours, to make them see more vibrant and lucid.

When a streak of grey enters the mixture, there’s a muddling of spectrums. If only romantics could take the poor from the broken alleys, take the sick from diseased corridors, provide the hungry with the honey of maidens. But, sometimes the surface is just the surface.

When you dig into the rock, there is only more rock. When you mine away the granite, there is only more granite. A coal may produce that alluring diamond once in the sunlight of graces, but it’s not always the case, sometimes it’s just rock, sometimes it’s another dig. Another mine, to excavate the calcium built in your lungs, to breathe easy again.