Gazing, gazing, gazing into replicated delicacy;
one would like …
… a pensive mode, little concern, just the decoration (please), the sunlight, the quiet repetition, the ongoing distance, all those bits of actions good for happiness; some resolution eventually, some hope of a steadfast grip on protective surroundings.
But sometimes there is a fight to be fought, a battle – maybe not desired – but, nonetheless there.
No time for the sissy-shit.
There must be some moment when the door can be slammed, confirming entering the confrontation or the withdrawal. But then again, which is sensible, it is never quite clear.