The
leaves fall. Other than the whistle of the wind, audibly it is all but silent.
The grasp you have on time fades away, into nothing but the fine powder-like
dirt beneath your body. The weight of anxiousness that was once on your
shoulders is lifted, at the very least for now. Your mind is blank, other than
the colours of orange, yellow, and red flying passed you.
It seems
as if you have found a true pleasure, triumphing over all of man’s foolish
attempts at creating their own queer valued utopia. The once threatening poise
the media had over your soul has completely abdicated from you… The pressure to
be “perfect”, or how the lively game of pretend has you think is perfect.
Truly, perfection within oneself is the only perfection one needs. Inner
perfection is only obtainable by those who understand what their calling truly
is.
As long
as you can find your “leaves”, your inner contentment should far surpass
pleasures gained by materialistic pressures. Such a blissful state may conquer
the innermost complexities of human nature. Once you've found your “leaves”,
the world my slow down and stop, only for you. The strength of reality is not
as great as the strength of the mind.