Churning are the notions of what seemingly are supposed to be of great importance to ones own character and structure, rather than a grasping of the very real, which sometimes lays dormant under the superficial architecture we often get engrossed in. All be it unwittingly so, a story to hand expectedly read and to follow through. Our hearts are sometimes dry through this pre ordered way of life forced by the daily grind and tasks ahead coupled with expectations. The truth will always argue the difference, coming from that hardened pull and vestibule of knowing which one can neither deny or suffer when all bets are off. That is to say when we finally listen to our own recordings and song which has been playing all along sweetly as ever but falling on death ears. We are our own match, match perfect if only we’d listen. Baited, stifled and stagnant are the suffocation of others whims that drown out our own in the occupation of vanity. For, for vanity’s sake it is a mere blowing in the wind before turning to dust below sky-fall, solemn and less seductive than anticipated. We are a mere grasp at what is and that what is, is unabated in love. Our song is refreshing when listened to but barely the few ever do. A becoming of home awaits the magnificent. True beauty will always lie within. The story unfolds.