On and on, I go, following the flow to wherever it settles me. There I wait for yet another wave to carry me, someplace else, another awaiting adventure destined for the blank pages of my scripts. Gradually, it becomes rather sane to be teleported in-between worlds, and never quite ending stories, tasteless poems, and on good days, hit songs.

Most times, unfortunately, it's the ever-there pain of the past that make it to these pages. And no matter  how much I have tried, seemingly all that is meant to be forgotten and buried, finds a way to live on As words on pages. Without hesitation, it's a skewed opinion to take away, the heaviness and beauty of such creations, disregarding an amount of agony carried within.

On better days, we find ways, to paint the happiness, so It could be shared to those in need of comfort and a little bit of love, which is mostly us. Apparently, it only lasts a breath, then away it goes, to be sighted once again. When it's good it's going great, air is fresh and alive. Words dance then, sometimes calmly, step by step as if waltzing to a classic lady in red jam.