Its one of those nights when you can't help but want so sing and serenade something beautiful.
Like how the rain trickled in this morning, creating that foggy view - laced with nostalgia and memories, thick with comfort and serenity.
Like how a mother lovingly dotes on a child, something as simple as lying shoes by the porch.
Like how when a voice stretches over an auditorium, the quiver of passion and fear is crystal clear, like a gift.
Beauty is what we cry for, because slowly it is dying, and slowly it is lost.
Haha. Sometimes I wished I lived hundreds of years ago, back when men believed in God, back when beauty was the centre of majesty, back when a smile or a word can be considered art - and