It was all gun metal. Each falling petal fell so well, I could tell the happiness was real, then the melancholy of spring settles in. Today I am coming to my senses. The sun hits my face, the realisation blinds my eyes, rose coloured lenses, like hands meeting gloves, and I come to weirdly love the peculiar sensation of falling into dreams. In this moment, this stubborn addiction, my pulsating movements, each separated footprint is a fallen solider in the draft of the winter in 39\'. I come to love the feeling. The acting bird, the gentle winds pass by like a conscience whispering in the capsized mind. Inside out, I was moonstruck and deranged, drowning in creative and destructive waves.