Reading the heart is not as easy as seeing love in the eyes of a lover. The step, towards the time of daily life, the meanings in the abstract sky of ideals, are in mystery, some are in between, there is also the desire to achieve the best thing, true, even though sometimes it becomes an endless love-story. Naturally.
Even if it is on the goal or on the will of the realm of ideals. Normal morality is disappointed in hopes, sometimes also in the inevitability of a story, then it is like destiny, as if it has already been written in the running, maybe in between, destiny, will be present by cause and effect.
A mirage, a feeling of love for the beloved's hope, when the baby is not the same as hope, the same feeling is present in many lives. Is it wrong, when love, hope, desire is expressed or buried in the manifestation of the soul in the body? Even though, there is a sense of wanting to greet or immediately give memories to beloved ones?
Will there be rain, storms tomorrow or will there be a blessing from heaven? Happiness, all souls are as bright as flowers, dew flickering in the sun, love, love is beautiful.
Perhaps, there is nothing detrimental to life, faintly transparent, sometimes bright, sometimes dim, seeing wrong or right symbols, comparing the ocean to the sky, comparing the rock to wood, comparing the rock to the rock, comparing the shadows with the silhouettes of the various luminous shapes of tiny hands, in the mosquito net before going to bed, childhood toys in a silent, clear image.
Seconds of time writing imaginary leaps in beautiful prose stories, perhaps, analogies, opinions, then symbols come into existence, continually give history to each other, although sometimes it seems to be detrimental on the one hand, profitable on the other hand, back and forth, as if unraveling diction of literary aesthetics.
your writing skill is very nice!