Carol

Oblivion to a bad dream. Is it a dream? Perhaps a vision that every end we all fear, is one that asks for your less concern as if you did not manage to manage, the world will set apart to a broken life that once never had any demands but to feel the breeze after a conspiracy against the homeland.

The wandering made itself to a city, one of lights, and full of them for the diamond-looking humans stalking in the innocence of not paying the slightest of attention. He made himself to a musical, where the outsiders are glitches to its pattern-system. One, he did not imagine to exist but it seems to do. In the flow, the more you feel the field, the more it grabs you inside.

Open doors, and the fantasy of a clef is just no myth. The world that somehow managed to survive even through the struggles, even through the mess, and perhaps even through the time. The man, that once left his sunflower field, to the opera house that a promise was given for a hurried departure but for a non-forgiven nightmare. It is somehow and in some way, connected. It is one dot, or many dots, that are so much in a distance but connect through a wanderer.

When the stick hits by, the rain flows. When the science defers nature, the inception conquers. When the world collides ahead, the death of a man of a rescuing murderer, is one of no compass. It is one wish to wake up forgetting, but due to the lifetime of running, it just keeps following. Perhaps never prepared for an upcoming storm. All to believe, as many letters you write, it is a star creating a star in a wheel of seek and hide.

Nerve redirection, it is all a distraction. Let a lost man enjoy his clef. It has been a lot. Perhaps we do not have to smile too sad. We could dance, listen to whatever comes to mind. I am not really sure of the process, but I, or him, will always want to do it with a clef that made him paint a town of his vision.