I'd like to dream about hugs and kisses, embraces and holding hands. Sipping hot drinks during the foliage colored autumn and baneful, biting, frosty winter. Pondering the universe and our brief, yet beautiful existence in the theater of life. I tend to think about sparkling campfire and roasting marshmallows in its playful flames, drinking wine while watching a movie and laying on the sofa together. Breathing in the scent of hair and being glad to be in that exact moment. Watching the rising or setting Sun, and it marking our being in time, painting our silhouettes on the world's canvas.

If I told you I'm a romanticist, would you believe me? Probably not. But yes, I am one of a kind. Even though the shadow of a pessimist can hide the fact and snap the roses. I treasure those warm thoughts in my imagination. Why there, you ask. Because the world we live in can be harsh, cold and merciless and it makes us its kind.
 The wheel of progression can be seen as a gear of oppression.
 A clockwork of our lack of empathy toward fellow men. And it keeps ticking...