Paint, paint me a picture.

Life. You gotta admit how picturesque and ghastly it can be at the same time. Thrown into the deep waters, you try to stay afloat. You smile and you make up. But that's not you. That's not me either. Are we all afraid of this loneliness deep inside of us? Are we not at all least independent?

A connoisseur of life I may not be. Everyone's a critique. May I then ask, when do we start forming comfort zones and drawing lines? When do you try stepping inside the other person's world? How long would it be before you get chased out?

To see your face, to hold your hand, to let chances slip by. To hear you sing, to read your letters, to let unfulfilled plans get washed away. To whisper to you, to have your embrace, to see you with another woman.

The quintessence romance of all, your heart.