Restricted from perfection, proving
excellence, to soar further, to cross seas; more rain in privacy, less
certainty in crowds, life has movement, thus, motion. It can be earned,
demanded, seduced—nonetheless, it comes by osmosis. A road where we meet, a
longstanding path, many have become thought, love, interpretation. Such
existence, not yet approved, not fully idealized; diaphanous daffodils, leaves
falling, sequoias bearing witness; deciduous irritation, some charm in
resistance, by excellence to have walked further; battle of wilderness, the
forest trail, more a story told to heal an inner appetite. By far a rise in
concentration, a need for convincing, a rule one lives by in parts: boating
open seas, treading desert dunes, becoming more of the horizon. Dearest
agitation, distressed with elements, most listen, feel empathy, as trying to understand
life.
