I think, after sometimes, I got used to it.
The stillness, the openness, the lightness, the silence.
The pace, the scent, the stance, the sense.
Not until it was late did I realize that it has become a home for a longing heart.
Yet another brand new start is awaiting. Just right beyond the door.
Without the heart even knowing what exactly to look for.
Funny how time is such an evil trickster and a wise wizard all at once.
When it all be gone, I wonder what would remain.
When the dusts are set, I want to see what’s sustain.
Whether will I walk or will I stay.
Either shall I move or shall I lay.
After sometimes, anyway I’ll figure out.