The river of life, the spring of it lies behind the softy-milky fabric. There is mystifying purity to it. Time is what really matters.
“I have lived my life again just looking into you”, I said. The smoke brushed softly against my hand. Its white dance between my fingers reminded me of the sound of koto – each string grasping a different note in my empty heart.
I am more soulful now, am I not?
“For everything sacred has the substance of dreams and memories, and so we experience the miracle of what is separated from us by time or distance suddenly being made tangible.” Yukio Mishima