Papa used to tell me about the gentle one. They whose its word could be grasp and its action could be inspire, a gentleman it is. To aware of what they do and did, speak and spoken, take and taken.

For what I sip, and what I sink, the antithesis blowed up like the truth that been spilled and becoming a cloudy paradox of his spoken lullaby. To finally stepping on the ground and aware of a little man I held, but certainly let go.