Hear the voices of the past, and of the men who faded into time and their footsteps that moved the ground until it was forgotten.
Hopes ablazed in fires of summer, fallen in thousand leaves of gold, embracing the ground of its pieces, to sleep until the rivers flow again.
Let good people take a part of your thoughts, but whoever isn't, must not be allowed to enter and should be left to blossom outside – in the garden of fools.
Is it too much to dislike watching plucked flowers slowly dying in vases?
When you know who you want to be and where you want to go, it doesn't matter when they can't comprehend your actions and sacrifices.