The higher you fly, the farther you'll fall.
So it goes through every season.
And therefore we must find beauty in even the fall, not merely the flight of spring from highest perch.
But Dignity? Is there any to spare in this world?
We should hope so, Love.
But not for the instinct to build nests we would not find our courage to fly. If we did not fly we would yet live, but merely dream.
A life full of dreaming is not murder, is it? Are its vacancies even real?
Glass, wax, wool and wood dust fill emptiness in me.
Sadly, the feline dream is not the same as the avian; thus, one falls to pieces as the other acts on ambitions it soon forgets.
._~!~_.
(the cat dreams mostly in red,
and red are all my clothes,
because my dear is red,
my dear is red,
red, my dear)
