perhaps we had a waste of breath for a moment, for reason. perhaps we we’re meant to vanish, beneath the flowers that seeped out apprehension and pain. perhaps our silence convulsed with words and meanings in which life itself could not treason with. perhaps, through the suffering, the clouds fearfully scattered, for light created the universe, producing man- and with light, motivation and love succeeded in binding its story thoroughly. with love, came suffering, and suffering came in convulsions. the heart cannot withstand all of these moments, these brief, forgotten, be sought moments, but it can create them. a mix of emotions blasting through the walls fixated inside your soul, a rush of love and blood, slamming the pieces into their rightful place. we were not meant to understand. we were meant to create and confuse. and knowledge is never-ending, for we are near sighted and cannot predict life. life has no meaning which is sought for. life is a piece, a fragment of what is shared between every living being standing. what pulses through us, what snakes into the depths within us and breaks our barriers, what we seek to be. life, unseen and untold, and shall remain.