written in germany in a motel after missing our flight

The circmference of a circle contains in its shadows the history of the green world as we now know it.
Love blooms and outgrows itself with pain.An intimate relationship between wood and velvet... unlike the one between paper and pen they do not share a common cause.
History is all about colors and blood. All about the way words are spelt and how they shouousld or should not be pronounced.A thousand cheesy metaphors later, one has a chronicle, throw in stone and boundaries and an epic has burnt itself onto the human consiousness.
Life goes on inspite of the past.Crawls, groans,slides, runs and flies steadily forwards. One takes of , another lands, turbulence is just an excuse to not live too much. For who are the ones who make the rules? Children? Adults? It is the same part of us that asks the questions.
Rules are to create concentrated answer-finding teams.Not this, not that but everything.
You are everyone.