Rose petals brush soothingly across my brow. Their velvet touch is not lost on my old leathered skin.
Bold lightness, abundantly, judiciously, gingerly, playfully, discriminately, rushing lavishly between fragile threads layering woven webs of pink silken molecules of thought, dissipating into disintegrating balloons of wonder anticipating exploration.
I think I made it. I know I made it.
If I can, I know you can.