Smallest piece of paper in my hand,
Huge rock beneath my head.
Hence I beathe
I travel,
I bet on the virtual stance of meadows.
Snow strangled around my toes,
Bit of dessert underneath
Last flower of valley bloomed inside a bowl full of realms.
All these crystals I have gathered,
Pockets are full,
Puzzles are solved.
With withered thoughts on the surface,
I pray for dusty roads,
Misty clouds,
I pray for another tinge of sand for my time glass.
However, everything is real (or not) when I look at her from a distance,
Everything that is and will be.
She is a shapeless mountain,
She is a valley full of invisible fountains,
She is a book, she possess melody.
Maybe she is just a word,
And I still wonder,
How did I come up with these lines?