And as the night goes, few words are spoken or seen.
I am a poor man, with just a few lamps.
It can be silent, and lonesome, and tricky, but it's the highway I was given, the one I am.
A small circle I might have, few companions might be seen: quiet, yet very bright.
Indeed, as the time comes, no darkness can be seen.
That's the price and the tradeoff for wholeheartedness, truthfulness, and that shall be.
I was born to see diamonds, simplify, minimize, and focus on what matters.
Focus on who matters.
If a tree I am, I don't have Christmas lights.
All over. Chatting. Laughing. Lying. Partying.
It'd be sad: a tiny light in each corner, yet, so dark, so empty, you can't see your own toes.
A tree surrounded by rice and chicken. Tasteless. Numb.
I was lucky on the way to born.
The tree I am, I perhaps have four searchlights, but this light gets much farther.
It's more quiet, silent, but bright, colorful, tasteful.
In the silence, I have myriad echoes of the light I'm given, back and forth, and back and forth,...
In there, I get to experience the most thorough and formidable tastes of this world.
It takes time for a single searchlight, and you never know where it's coming.
It's not up to you.
You just need to accept, and embrace them, and love them.
But it's exactly this risk, this chaos, this intensity, this love, that makes it is so rare, so magnificent, so extraordinary.