The Ukulele string snaps a small stream of blood from your ring finger, but it's not gloom or sorrow but contorted contentment... When you fill your cup up to the brim with cream and it doesn't go over the edge. When you peek around the corner and see your favorite store open, with that one book inside you've been waiting to grab for years now, but you never did. When you walk through the woods when the scenery secludes you from civilization; the temptation to give into the nightingale's melody which slices the silence with its melancholy tune. You breathe in the air on top of the dune; sandcastles, sandhills childish screams as you yell 'seek!' giggles and yelps of excitement. A newborn baby cradled closely, the warmth spreads through your body like when you finish a book, not a series; a novel of great adventure; the sigh of great relief. On a cold autumn night, when you wrap the blanket around you, trinkets on your nightstand, the pleasure of closeness' embrace, the comfort of a lovers touch, intertwined between each seam of your covers. As the rain paints your windows crystal your watercolors touch the canvas, your jewel, Cupid's arrow through your heart but it's not love, as defined in dictionaries, legends, or myths. The breeze moves the window drapes paint drips on your jeans and you laugh; why not paint the walls crimson or azure! Why not travel the world in a broke-down Van, stopping every thirty miles for another can of gas or root beer or what have you? Why not get seven cats and name each one after your favorite deserts? What if you paint the sky orange? What if you grew fins and sprung into the blue ocean? What if trees were purple not green? What if the Library of Alexandria was still here? Swinging round and round; the melody from the record player grabs your arms and makes you fly to the moon and back, your laughs heard around the world...