I thought there was rambunctious need in one’s life to cure itself of finding love.

but when I look at the snow covered whimpering cedar trees, I know it true.

The disciple of years spent and toiled and I love myself for being here

To note the years

And all I rebelled

I did what my family wants.

As if preemptive

A sick baby flew high

And turned a sick kid

And now the quarter life descends to doing what I wanted

And meeting the middle.

Looks different for you

And majority wakes.

The last best decision – is the hope to keep alive.