Have you ever felt as if something you dreamed up is right there, within the hand’s reach, so real yet extremely fragile? Did you jump right at it or stop breathing for a minute, not to spook it, fearing that something so good can disappear so easily? Isn’t that how real life works? Aren’t things that are too good normally also too elusive to be kept by anyone for longer that several happy heartbeats?
Image credit: happysak
Currently listening to Warchild by Immanuel Jal