ओं थे मंत्ले लैस मय सोल.

Life is strange as the way it come out of the blooming flower which will then be rotting in the evening, I have not much of a recollection why it is rotting, if it is because the little worm which was suspended from a tree was the culprit? Or something’s gone wrong with the gene of that plant.
Life was hectic at my own design but! Now it’s totally still and will run deep in short minutes or two, which is not the greater concern of the lesser life right? No! Not really if there be anything worth to fight for in a 100 years.
Adjusting to the different design and the way life functions here, I become a complete dysfunctional son to my folks. At least as for now when I am just about, not enjoying the holiday anymore. It is crazier to think about the repressive understanding I had within the realms of definition.