EDEN

Upon the pillow where my head lays are cavernous dreams to which, I hate. Visions of old in which people are alone. It's a place where some have made mistakes and where some are yet to make them at all. It's a place where barren soil nurture no roots, it's a place opposite of that where flowers bloom.

It's parallel to the world you live in. A place where the majesty of the Sun, the tears of the heavens and depth of the hearth nurture the most perfect gifts. Vagabonds don't belong there.

I live in a world where flowers are cut as they bloom only to satisfy the tempest of selfishness. You do not belong in my brutish world. A place where beauty is stored in showcase. Evocative rosen hips deserve uncallused hands. Use your thorns and fights hands like mine, for only the most delicate hands can embrace your splendor.