“We cross our bridges as we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and the presumption that once our eyes watered.”

and... she keeps going back.. to the pages that make sense....

"Nothing is perfect," sighed the fox.
But he came back to his idea.
"My life's very monotonous," he said. "I hunt chickens; men hunt me.
All chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike.
And in consequence, I am a little bored.
But if you tame me, it'll be as if the sun came to shine on my life.
I shall know the sound of a step that'll be different from all the others.
Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground.
Yours will call me, like music out of my burrow.
And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder?
I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me.
The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad.
But you have hair that is the color of gold.
Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me!
The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you.
And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat…"
.
.
.
.
.

.
So the little prince tamed the fox.
And when the hour of his departure drew near—
“Ah,” said the fox, “I shall cry.”
“It’s your own fault,” said the little prince.
“I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you…”
“Yes that is so”, said the fox.
“But now you’re going to cry!” said the little prince.
“Yes that is so” said the fox.
“Then it has done you no good at all!”
“It has done me good,” said the fox, “because of the color of the wheat fields.”






...

"I myself own a flower," he continued his conversation with the businessman, "which I water every day. I
own three volcanoes, which I clean out every week (for I also clean out the one that is extinct; one never
knows). It is of some use to my volcanoes, and it is of some use to my flower, that I own them. But you are
of no use to the stars . . ."

Embers and Ashes... and all that goes in between

They say its good news. Death .. In a dream.

A boding of good things to come. Closing of an old door, opening of a new one.
A flame kindling all night, burning out in the sun.

Death in a dream is not a farewell.
But a fare thee well and a beautiful news at hand ...



.

Twins

Two souls alike and poles apart,
One with each other, like strings of a 'tar
Making the music of laughter and tears
Making of dreams and of toasts and cheers

And they'd argue and reason with the voices around
When nothing else worked, just put their foot down
Seemed the lunacy was finally done clearing
It was all cloudless and clean... and pure as dawn

And then one lost and the other found
All rantings had been to shapes in the clouds
And she looked around, there were no cheers
It was all silent, they just weren't there...



.

Reality in ink....

every second is eternity..
every moment forever...
Every life endless and every dream ... true....






.

She wonders.. what the tears are for...when one dies..

Maybe the tears are not for the memories that will not be built...
but for the memories that will fade away....
For the days when she will look back...and see a haze.. a fog...
unrecognizable.. unfamiliar...warm...hollow...real...

You cry for what you will one day forget....

.

Only once....

There is no rebirth, only a sad excuse for hope.
You live only once, here and now.
Seek pain, redeem yourself.
Cling to, let go.
Make a world full of promises and break them all.
Promise to self.. never again..

Go through it all, just so it ends....


.

Either.. Or... And..

Wondered why grey is thought ugly ? Objective is valued way more than subjective.

And why Binary is always fashionable. Always.

When you cant understand the way the way it is, you cant accept it in its entirety.

You may like it, admire it, yearn for it though. You might even want to be it, in some deep dark corner of your being.

But in reality there is place for either black or white.

Nothing else ever belongs..

.