So I cried out to the good Lord, to send an angel to polish my stars, that I'd once again have back my bright world. But then, I learned that they shot the angel down and made out of that, a feast! They walk around these days, with its bones around their necks!
That aside, I don't worry anymore where in this universe, I get to spend my next breath or where I take the next, or perhaps where I loose the other, for, between the ball point of my pen, and the purity of the faintly granulated surface of my paper, I found a widely calm, peaceful universe, where I truly belong!
"The Universe In Between"