Words glide out of mouths like honeyed milk, chastity spills from naked limbs. A lurking spirit of a fox, dwelling in secrecy between shrubs of entanglement. So easily, so ready with tremendous convenience; rise and fall, come and go.

A giving of the stairway of obligations and promises, a hundred fold of sacrifices and commitment; a humble apology to forgo all misery. Assumed strategies, many more inidividual ideologies. Like vines weakly clinging onto, hanging from floating heights, skeptical from anticipating certain collapse. With the minutes, hours, days, months, years, decades, ambiguously marking risks to every trudge we try forward. Words, a confirmation of feelings-exchange, or meer partial consolation for an aging affinity?

Perhaps, the roads concretely paved were melted down for directions to be designed by none other than ourselves.