The beauty of the intangible and the uselessness of reality are in the opposite sides of the world.

the most certain fact: everyday people are born and people die.

One is born into seemingly endless strings of relatives and as time passes, each string cut by time's scissors makes the whole quilt filled with holes and unavoidably empty of living people, till there's no quilt at all.

The Artist

I met The Artist many times till now.
And in each time, The Artist shed a bit of himself.
Once She was knitting with a thread of her soul a piece that was infinite.
Some other time He was building a simple puzzle with a piece of his mind.
The last He and She were seen, they were tearing parts of their heart and gluing them with their own blood.

Everything can be turned into relative. That's why everyone sees reality from each angle that suits them better in that moment.

(old writting on a piece of paper here)

Life's a bitch and then she asks you the divorce. :D