Love is the end.
The morning light comes early these days.
It can be quite humbling to witness the glorious rays of the sun diffusing the remainders of yesterday’s darkness; reaching out from under the heavy blankets that envelop the world from top to toe.
If my life were to be made up of patterns, mine would probably consist only of lines – many, many lines drawn forcefully again and again within the same area, so much so that they blend, burn and blur – crashing into each other, eating into one another.
Confusion could reign supreme, but the trick is to get off a speeding train without getting yourself killed.
Why do human beings have to be social creatures?