I'm fine.

"I suppose every child has a world of his own – and every man, too, for the matter of that. I wonder if that's the cause for all the misunderstanding there is in life?"

- Lewis Carroll.

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In the abstract caricature of my imagination, an elaborate depiction of limitless plausibility is inserted with incisive designs of intricate speculation about the improbable concept of multiple universes.

The variety of possibilities—in a diversified existence of alternate and parallel universes beyond the three-dimensional graphics within the self-constructed fantasy—allows that leap of faith to happen, with the only difference being that there is no certainty that it's going to be a haystack at the bottom; uncertainty still lies even beneath the haystack.

Having many options—an assortment of delicate prospects to select from—clouds the mind up and shades off the burdens of work as the indulgence in mapping out the butterfly effect purely through the artistry of imagination.

It is only then that the mind reaches a point of self-actualisation about how the innocence has yellowed and this cynical fantasy has turned all sinister, painted black and marked with a red cross.

The good days are over as the confusion takes over, unknowingly. Perhaps ignorance is bliss, it might be better not to know why everything happened even if one was to be pushed in a ditch and does not have the energy or courage to scream for help.

Being weak, placed in a position of shameless helplessness, is beyond false pretense.

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Keep on, little dreamer.

Keep hold of all that you are.

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M.

Drop tears in the morning.

Give in to the lonely.

Here it comes with no warning.