Dear fruit fly

I understand you, you freakin fly, I can’t believe that I’m me and you’re a speck of dust in air but somehow I’m moved by you and when one is moved, they understand the pain that one is going through, and it’s called love never mind who… what you are what matters is this process

Hey, it’s okay… no one really gives

You may think your problems are so big and life consuming, but it’s really not. It’s actually… well… sort of laughable. I mean, the bees don’t care; they’re out there buzzing around with their little wings. The wimpy little cloud glides by casually like a cool snail across the clear blue skies. The cicada is

I Wish I were an ant

They’re always on a mission, hanging out with each other, having a purpose and all.

Ceiling corners

Lying in bed Smoking hookah with Rumi Staring at the ceiling With walls made of shadows. The scent of agarwood in the air coming from the kitchen; Drafty rose and all things eastern and holy My skin oozes with warm toned oil A tasty blend of nature, dirt, rain in the city, Lotus, lily, ice

My meaning of life

Laying on nature’s floor, breathing in fresh air, feeling the pollinated breeze over my face, being next to the green plants and trees, accompanied by bugs and bees Letting time pass by, fast or slow, with the fluctuating clouds above I don’t care. This is my meaning of life.