.allbliss.

I am a stranger for anyone who believes that happiness makes you happy because of the abrupt realization of a certain uplifting emotion that surfaces from the bottom of your soul, a brandished light shining through the darkest in the middle of being lost, bubbles from a simmering pot of stew. Plop-plop-plop.

I am a stranger for someone who thinks that living life to the fullest means living a life filled with life and concern and care for life, and lives to the dogma that what makes you alive are things that intended to keep you alive, even though living was actually the yang of the balance, and death was yin, but you do not care because life means living, and living a life in darkness is living a life anticipating death. There's no life there.

I am a stranger for somebody who seeks comfort from the bottom of the ocean, singing a coax to the pain he/she felt, moaning for a consolation against the grief filling her from within like a brimming cup of root beer contaminated with cyanide.

I am a stranger to you.

A cloaked existence that sweeps the room, across the waltzing light of freedom, of forgiving, of the gentle love.

My existence was bonded to the fact that I have nothing to exist for, but continuing my existence have been my job.

I wrote of love, and wrote for you. You are my love. People who lay eyes on stringed letters and pleases their soul through the ideas painted into thick paragraphs and alphabet, you guys are my love. People who rather expend time reading poetry and moistening the edge of their lips with a grin and till the soil of their imaginary garden, you guys are my love. People who love hearing stories of love, of bravery, of death, and believing, for some reason, that jumping into the plot would prevent Romeo from drinking the poison, you guys are my love.

I write for those who read. I write for my love.