I know not enough words to weave you a beautiful story. The extraordinary sceneries, the overflowing emotions; I can describe neither. And you'd put me in a great deal of trouble and frustration if you ever ask me to describe life, for any words I speak will never equal to this – this undescribable journey. I long to tell you all the little things I notice everyday, how beautiful the scene outside my two by three window today. You, who constantly complain about the daily stresses you experience; I want you to notice the things I see. Why are you so blind to the lilies outside your window, brushing against it in an attempt to say hello? What about the sound of rain, have you never stopped to listen? You told everyone that you hated life, but don't you understand that life loves you, despite every insult you've ever thrown at her? If you ever ask me about life, I'll tell you so many more things. I'll be life's spokesperson, since you seem to be deaf to her cries. Perhaps you'll understand if I try to say these things out loud. But alas, I've never got a chance to do so, because you've never asked about life. But I suppose that one should ask my name first before one could ask about things like life.