A literal translation of something so peculiar that it cannot be described by words:

Transcending space, time, and eternity, it floats among stars. We forget ourselves among its tiny nuances in ways that make the big picture (whatever that’s supposed to mean) disappear. It is turbulent and flowing, consuming and cascading and we float among its depths, barely breathing for fear of forgetting. We view the world through its ripples, or wish it worked that way, in any case. Instead we live within it, and our occasional escapades into something more tangible result in nothing but hurt feelings and scars. It becomes our very breath, and when we are forced to the surface, left with nothing to breath, we lose ourselves completely. Only to find that we are immersed in it’s deathly disease once again. But, oh, what deathly disease, that whispers secrets into the sleeper’s ear and turns the everyday rose into a thing of legend. What disastrous beauty, it creates. Red ribbons, twisting us together in a web of sorts, we become one with it. We become chaos.

I am still afraid. It’s nobody’s job to fix that.

Laugh.