There's some fortunate life, there's another unfortunate life. But what fortunate or unfortunate is must be indefinable at any life. 

Just when we assess it though success, only that earlier it must secure the one's life stability, but essentially felt satisfacion or happiness could belong to another dimension.

Any life could be assessed only with each subjective interpreting, then we have no formula to regard life meaning, it has no result until it ends.
Poet just wants to make his created thing not to ride on orbit so commonplacely. But very smartly derailing either stinks not so rarely, then just honest creating either works so well.

Any assessing object relies on only arbitrary and personal running, however being bad to give up or having sour grape must never be so worse, nevertheless anything must never be alright, but even that judging should be anytime so personal.

Landscape must be consistent, but it makes ceaseless change at the way to have a feeling to it by us and by itself subtly consistent changeable kaleidoscope. Possiby, landscape by itself would have mind, that must never be false.

Date must switch itself regularly, its vertically decissive exchage and cut must be clear, but simultaneously lazy duration must be persistent.

Very rare visit of which interval had been a while makes every scenery I should have been familiar with very another aspect. That regarding occasion convinces me that any nature, any fixed meaning either means so fragile.

Persistently scattered fallen leaves could be mind holding, but that sensitive understanding must never be so sentiment, rather is so essential.

What does mind mean? What does fragility mean? What does persistence mean?
Eventually we at least I have no certain idea.

Either bravado judgement, envious view, vanity could never be denied, because any mind could be levelled on same dimension, we could say.

All slowly running at transiting time and date switching must be levelled, but to some extent,
it means either ceaseless cutting in piled up with thickness. Is time accompanied with felt narrowness, or busyness? 

Emancipating from undivided straightly running time's nature means somewhat, doesn't it?

Time by itself must run not in shredded order, but either it has obvious date swtching. Ultimately only time must be capable to slip through all external control, nevertheless, when I look around winter drought air wrapping trees' withered aspect and I gingerly putting myhands in the cold pond water, certainly can have confidence, that tangiblly fixed texture must never be stolen even by time.

Forests making melancholy loneliness my mind makes, plexus making sound being so crisp tasty reacting texture swung to my feet though climbing shoes at my insolently overbearing shortcut beside formal gate to the park, only that thing could never be intruded by time.

But, synchronically I have envy to that time's materialistic blunt nature.

Definitely at my body transiting nature process, even to withered felt muscle strengh, only time must watch me all. 

What content do you talk to time, hey you, winter gust? Unexpectedly made blast? 

Only my idea around tomorrow my whim tempting unidentified mind message makes the answering question on behalf of them, make me heard of your mind, because my role must never afford to answer your only just a bourgeois hobby tasty question, just also today, if somebody whimsically whistles, I regulatorily only convey that reverberation to further area where the wind is calm at that time.

Necessarily, I miss the wind's response at the time already at very another idea on my mind.

Jan. 14th. 2021