It is when I expect inspirations to come at the very least they seem to make themselves so largely visible and obvious. Sitting here facing my 3-year-old desktop, I started to gain out answers. Them kids I chose to believe. With half-eaten tiramisu on my left and a whole bar of rum and raisin Ritter chocolate on my right, you possess no other choice than excruciating the works of others with mild curses at heart. Without giving in, you think you have won the challenge. Where do we go? Who are we ending up being? What is it to sacrifice? Tiramisu doesn’t know. It never will, my darling. Because it has no soul and intuition we lot hold in ourselves so tightly that losing them would most certainly cause a malarkey of our own mind. Do we believe in what we do? Do we believe in the answers? Ever they go, do we regret? Fetch that little faith in you and hop on to another world. You would wonder. But your own world is never be enough so long as we grow. Are we the ones to be counted on, or will we be dependent? Are you looking up, or down cynically as Kaisers sitting in their throne? Will you move, or be stagnant? Rum and raisin won’t ever comprehend the sense of the ever-flowing questions, like you are doing now.
You are curious.
You feel lost.
You do not fear.
Glaze of thousand diamonds shining its path on your labyrinth. Speaker of thoughts you always listen but never keep, the voice of silence in your heart that will never be remembered. You feel sad and it takes you down, down, down, down to the lower ground. Weapons of words are now insufficient to provide you with reasonings, to heal you from the loss that’s been borne. You say, “where now?”. But the puzzle never solved. Only dots and colours and shapes, but no pictures. No beautiful tapestry. “Qui, adesso!”, you scream outloud, putting every single effort to make it happen. This galaxy is much too bizarre for you to face. Much too bizarre.