The cold weather seems to be revolving on a pun. A language turn; with chinese tracks crooning to innermost dilemmas.

Placing the world in your possesion on the table, and walking miles from it, the bondage releases. You heave breaths of burden, yet tears are still on the verge of imploding down supple cheeks so vulnerable.

Soon, the ones you love so perpetually, leave you in a vast space of defeat. Sandcastles you earnestly constructed, collapse at the slightest howls of wind. Still, hatred does not replace love; it never can.