It might be too late now, we are turning to water. The world seems so small at this point, under such endless sky smooth blue. It is growing lighter. Gears are turning, things are happening, synchronic steps calculated ages past dictate our movements present. For feeling though, we are free focused concentrating fixations. Struggle to derive sense from accidental and random complex combinations, portions of our nature make us real while we
struggle to abstract ourselves in tandem. Wondering how easy would it be to slip from this set constructed life to parallel
placements. Attempting to discern between what
has been guided by our own hands and what is mere
circumstance, where the credit belongs. We return tempered stronger.

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