Paradox II

Love can either be an angel of nurture, or a devil of devastation.
When you least expect it, it weaves stories into pictures, add rhythm to a breeze.
When you urge for more, it breaks crystal ball into sharp fragments, pierces holes onto clouds to let rain falls relentlessly.
But, with love, we grow.

Paradox

The ever lasting transience, the deafening silence, the deleted-in-bin memory,
have drived me to the gallery of her images.

The fragrance was gone, but i still smell it.