Addicted to the same vantage points, I seek excuses to go back there again. The rationale eludes me so I call it love, and in thoughts of grandeur: love for humanity. I hurt and bleed from the pores of my soul and I wonder what is a loss, when I never had you to begin with. Perplexed and overwhelmed I set on to create a world of my own: of butterflies and magic, and one devoid of my own image. My dreams substitute for reality, and confusion for sanity. I blow in the wind blasting over a dead city; a grain at a time on the walls of memories which I cannot tell from fantasy. Hope was my shield, and when it broke, I re-wrote the dictionary. Hope is now loss, and light is now darkness, and I am an architect of words; creating colors of void, and fragrances of glee. My pen’s eloquence is matched only by the chaos of ambitions.