Yesterday I saw you kissing tiny flowers,
but all that lives is born to die.
And so I say to you that nothing really matters, and all you do is stand and cry.
Our paths and our futures are hidden in mists
that are stretching out over impossible distances, totally obscured. And I really do think that there’s probably more good than anger or selfishness, sickness, or sadness would ever completely allow us to have in this life.
Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide.
