I met to question/accepted and the question became as seen fixed to the finite involvement of the arrayed expressions seen with every eyelash, I answer. From what is seen afar and meet to a close distance made to fit in its progression to the appearance meant for the eyes. Having the time I have watched as the matter made to appear/endure; looking from as to be meant and you were as the air made to see not to touch and I concern as the progression made to save the air from myself as would the air from the (self) but the (self) made what I'd seen to endure until I practice and I became the work of how concentration became into the form of what the body did and I decided that one fix of relaxation and one breath became the beginning of the impression of a thought and the instant of you became and considering contemplation as it made to the sense of how it proceeded during the question of my existence while a friend of mine came about into the smile of a question that lingered with you next to me and you sit free of emotion to have the heart to challenge the thought of self-obedience and to the right of age and the life of your contentment of your youth. Waters? I do not challenge the thought of self-obedience; rather, the right of my calmed emotions that count when the arrival of my spouse speaks in hurtful tones; as she ages to the sight of my sighs; I wanted more of the time spent between the skin and its wrinkles; just as the age remains on my old face. Returning with the laughter of a grabbing smile; ageless, her smile of beauty as she reflects in my deepening eyes pressed like the light of the morning air; drying the eyes that awaken the sight of our endless perfection. (Silence). Who will age and die before the end of our discussion of the state of aging and perceiving the accounts of others who have aged and received word that affect the many in a sag of a face and a drop of sweat on the side of my head to receive my pulse, worrying if I am alive. To you and the pulse drop of sweat entering age as you would answering the emotions of a high; (we both looked to the ends of the tables and became aware of the ends of any conversation, ageless.) What do you see now? While your face ages and your heart made you sit with a cynical smile that directs our current thought with trials of a hand birthed to flawlessness by the inner markings; to the ache of thought; I wonder if our colleagues were correct? One stated - “To master emotion; and age truthfully eclectic to our minds causing our very age to suffer a calamity of misfortune or to impress the people of our ageless perception which overcame the calamity of death. Which to choose? We gather in our first attempt of colleagues to inquire the state of people on the verge of old age by our second source of life, emotion. Our theory of emotion was by the ink of writings that placed in our planet one to them of history and the other to the question of the planets of amazing gas only for the pleasure of sight. The grounds of galactic lay placed colonies for meddling as the torment of other nature places men and women to the science of origin, once again. The unpleasant reaction doubtfully greeted by your age and to the stack of papers to continue increasing our understanding of emotions placed in our universe. Where is the origin of the once belittled emotion of simple disputes? I watched as the houses emptied. The universe is not complementing the planet as the time became the emotion of how we age in the universe. As the night approaches the car lights pierced through the window. My ride; in attempt to end our discussion with success. I take my leave and I remind the world to you as emotions wanted to spend my time giving with the whites’ and grays’ found in my hair and the youth that came and went; day and night into the need of resting, in my timeless day; dying in what my dress made me feel, clean; the quickness that made notice throughout my walk in the halls with the hurries of cold, weak sweats on my skin-under the sleeves of my cold wet arms. I walk out the building. And I called out to any person I see on the streets. I asked this strange man if I was young? I get the heart of palpitation and it begins this anxiety while the need of these highs to react and manage to label it the intelligence that I find. fascinating; and the answer of our universe, emotiona claims to be and the walk that became the shakes of what sense made. Have you seen my cheeks blushed it's new and a brighter red?I smiled and asked and what of the woman? What'd she say? With her eyes? It was with as if she had seen the touches of her face and she didn't mind the moment as she stared into mine. I muttered. Dare I die with this idea that made me worry of the “state of aging?” (looking to him) And? Like you say it and made me believe that one day will reach the end of our lives; with more kisses and an uncounted number of flowers that I make room for each hour of the morning. I'll remember what you say just to pile dead and pale yellow roses into the night count after I suffer dementia and place my wasted tears on the smell of roses when I open the trunk. Just to remember. (I looked to her for the chance to smile not knowing if she was the same; but, she drives not looking my way and the headlights kept passing her sight of how she just makes me smile at the ideas of her walking throughout the city asking if she is still young. I wanted to make her appreciative in the decision of how she wanted to react in the public. Crazed, apparently. I wait for summer each morning and I behave accordingly to the sweet air and the soft face that touches as if I wanted my beauty to return with the brushes and vanity. I wait for old age in the evening and suffer the smell of the dying roses just to pluck them from the sun and the pretty I see when the roses are lit by the moon and in my trunk. So here could be a funeral with the smell of roses. And this face I dare to see in your eyes. (I hoped for a kiss.) I face closer to the window and fog the night and I wipe the cold window and I see far city lights and I calm just to remember the glow of the city lights.
The wind that sounds to the empty streets that time around noon; the even emptier vehicles that were parked to the laps that heighten the night in the appearance as we sleep. I heard the voice that became of my mind; the loud voice in a concerning tone-made to believe that all would be okay to the age of those suffering. I was amazed while my skin became the forgetfulness of my mind. I suffer the acquaintance of the flesh; unlike the decline of mans. Amongst the new inhabitants that walk my universal ground made to face the beginning of emotional life to change the universe as we came to know that time is as the planet has undoubtedly never changed to itself, until now; and the variation of nature to consist with time itself and the skies mastered intergalactic travel and made nature equally as the perception of man.
The steps of my daughter became as the age claimed the youthful movement; while she aged and changed several appearances before the age three. She began to walk her first steps of her old age; what was it? I said. At a glance her age became the winter still of the bare trees. I smiled, to ease the emotion into her mind-settling with the face resembling a cuter form of my gone forgotten mother. I taught the child to walk as I held her hands; she pranced and pranced and she cried-confused becoming the reach of her father. I walked her to the front of the mirror and she wept. I could not bare the tears of her old age while my youth became as clear as the starnight of our struggle. Happy to thought as she neared the piano; I begged of her to climb the bench as she smirked and struggled she became as the old replied with her understanding of how her mother died. Emily had said “I’m old and my heart hurts, why?” Emily, dear my hands will act to the ache to the age of how you became the sadness that hurried the death of your mother. I to am to blame as well as she aged to my absence I became the air that suffered my tears in my throat; my wife your mother who passed a song-to the birth of your smile-will immediately cause you to love the way your heart will become as the song brushes your hair as I forgotten the acts of your kind mother. I stood her up smiling and lifted her hands to play the piano. I smiled, as I recalled the time when Emily began to stare noiselessly into the piano. I knew she had the heart that kept her alive to the playing of Samatha, her song. Are you prepared to bare the hearts of those who speak age and yearn for life as death approaches all? Who are we? Only to be subdued by the limitations of our age-a constant grief when the loss of someone belittles our time with our beloved ones. The life of others teach us to mend and approach the emotion of our wavering hearts. Listen, Emily age did not mention the youth in the bare moment of our time together as the piano played your age becoming the youth of soul found in the light of your mind. Be ready as the sound plays more soul of heart that your body yields strength to compose a sound of beauty to the tips of your weightless fingers-given the life of my love.
I returned a phone call to one of the colleagues of the late night conversation on about the emotions claiming the lives of people. With no response I took to the last ring and my face sunk to the depths of how the speed of the highway will count to the speed limit of each breath, I heave, I heave as I awaited as I deprived as I took to the next breath to the seconds I tried; but, I immediately took the chance and chased my room as my findings led me to believe in the hurries of a sight of being the response of many of those who considered the instructions of how emotiona began to fate the deaths of people; who practice the constant of life with one emotion to dictate the body of those accumulating moments as they wanted the old to release the life of a stare ran by their tears. Please, anyone, can I calm the help of oneself to seek as I take my keys? I drive to the highway to keep what wits made as the cars drove on to my breath and more that hid to the seven that I counted to keep the time as memory approached my lungs; I seen the distance to know that time is on the road, I nearly slept behind the wheel and I awoke to beam of lights in a curve of what rain made car beams to signal to the right of my inhale one after another I knew the time had vanished, I sink into to my mind from the dark night I wanted the time to reach the body without the ache of those who know of sorrows. I make what I had to discover as my heart began to slow I saw as the night became as the pitch darkened to the stress of the beam of lights spinning to the direction of its perfection. I swayed to the moments of breath during the fall of the pouring rain; bright as I could only see what the eyes allowed the mind to perceive, blinding with the darkness reaching the light as the instant it took to recover to the expanse of the highway scene. I seen the windshield wipe away to the clarity as my sight extended to the glass; rain drops to the speed of the quickest highway drive I began to laugh. The rain poured and I rolled the window to find fate pouring into the car making the way a cold night drop shivering my sleep to the wet sleeves; I am wet and I know that time was as I knew a friend; who gathered in the light of the star that illuminated the day and the moons that appeared yellow as the sun; time, I wanted to be as the weight of the tears that fell and the moons were lit to fade and the world became the darkness of how I swallowed the air whole of pain to know air gave life and now it is the winds slowing and the air thinned; at last, I knew time was leaving and the nature of what we expected to know and realized the road became smaller and the way to know that Elis and the galaxies made soon the end of time; I layed to the highway side as the roads became too close to the streets as the water filled the way of the road.