Keeping it simple to start with and subtle as it is, and there can only be the once to see as, even as others don’t, but coming to it, it’s always been and always will be the same in the world:  The horse does the work and the coachman is tipped. And even then, the world is screwed; we just choose not to notice.

Yet, we have to see that even the bonds of matrimony are like any other bonds; they mature slowly, going beyond and so much more than any human could ever understand.

They just have to know where to start, even though the ending makes little to no sense. For even, someone, as I hope life isn’t a big joke, because I don’t get it,  as the punch line feels more real, than just passing a basic joke around of words, that leave the lips so easy.

Between every two pines is a doorway to a new world, which is breaking to get out. But is there someone, anyone, besides, I, to look for that said world and welcome it. Even; though the fear of doing so could end in distastefulness.

So bitter in the mouth, we soon see that freedom is never free. It has to take through levels of life. Breaking; not only the body, but the heart and soul as well. For, those higher, whom don’t know this, laugh at our misfortunes.

But we have to be daring, to step out the lines of the color book world. Bring our dreams to come true, but if you want to make your dreams come true, the first thing you have to do is wake up! And break those chains that hold you back, keeping you from really knowing what you can do. And bluntly so, that whatever is you, is great, even if they, the faceless shadows, say otherwise.

Yes, it sounds like hell, unwelcoming, and painful to do walk. But if you’re going through hell, keep going. That light at the end, may feel like the end of heaven, but it’s far the truth, as it is, the start, to do again, and again right.

And you scream to the high heavens, deepest hells, and endless echoes of limbo, where you hem your blessings with thankfulness so they don’t unravel. Less to have the chance, and repeat all that has been lost, hidden, crushed, taken away in a simple gist of wind. For, it’s a wind that will mark your flesh, kindly with warmth of lies or penetratingly with coldness of truth.

For; as you look back in your yearly book, of the passing years, you had dared yourself to walk. You’ll recall that you did something wise, without knowing, and what that was to put your future in good hands . . . your own. And boldly . . . if I do say so myself!

But boldly may be good, it can be a curse, if not used right. When bold becomes something else, leaving you filled with hatred, leaving you to be something, others are fear it, for every minute you are angry, you lose sixty seconds of happiness, and those who care for you. That is a mindless and simple risk, and only a risk that is something to take, if you fear that there nothing else to lose.

Having nothing else, but; your words and actions to reflect on it! That not even, that of the only good thing about punctuality is that it usually gets you an apology. But was it an apology worth it? When in the end, you didn’t even mean it?

And if does, what of that world, outside of yours? The one, you spoke highly of, of how it revolves around you and only you. That evens the simple and none profitable such as all art requires courage, when seeing you lack it. Speaking harshly, that even I fall there, but I have the nerve to say it!

Even to say, that seasons of life have more in them than you! Just as how winter is dead; spring is crazy; summer is cheerful and autumn is wise! They give so much more, with no try, they just do!

Listen quietly and you could hear of how the summer night is like a perfection of thought. Thinking carefully of every thought, knowing somehow, someway! They’ll work! With time, did you ever have that?

Or: how in the dead of winter, every mile is two in winter, which everything that is done, should be done twice. Once; with what you know, twice; from another voice, all done before the end of the year is over and starts with the next season in following.

That in the shine of spring! You can cut all the flowers, but you cannot keep spring from coming. It’ a wild season, which can never, kept down by any hands of life, for it is life that fears nothing and yet everything. That is what it takes to be bold!

To; not forget little autumn, so wise, full of perceptive. Having little to enjoy when you can, and endure when you must, for you are like winter, dead as night, rethinking twice alone, wasting others time.

Wisdom for all is how some folks are wise and some are otherwise. You little fool, are the latter of the list. Speak not of how little white lies you could do, for I won’t hear it. Not again, not ever!

Recall of the lack of worry you brought on yourself, just as people gather bundles of sticks to build bridges they never cross, for they know, happily and sadly to others, they know someone else will cross it for them. Caring little if they make it or not.

And with that, my little weeds. Is where I live you, for I am needed elsewhere? Where, hard to say, just remember, my little weeds, yes, why? Easy, a weed is but an unloved flower. To that goodbye to you and hello my next ears to listen.

As time moves on, slowly and surely, as time is a dressmaker specializing in alterations. Carefully making changes, but unknowing of what the changes will do.

Become blind to see society attacks early, when the individual is helpless. Leaving the lack, of the choice to be different hard to become more as a chore.

Seeing that what is made by man can’t even do something easy, as to us is breathing. You cannot endow even the best machine with initiative; the jolliest steam-roller will not plant flowers. It’s not that easy, little human, it is not.

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