While in the parallel world, everything is immaculate, everything is empowering and sharp as the fresh sour drop coming out of the squeezed lemon. There are plenty books in the shelf and a whole new dimension of elaborated vocabulary to intensify my writings, I can put my feelings to words in the most petite manner. There are brushes of the right sizes and paints of the finest material. There are dreams turning into procurement and a smile amiable as honey on my parents’ faces because of me. My face has the glow of the morning sun and my lips are the strokes of concentrated red of the evening sky. My soul is the flame that brightens up your jet black agony into a crimson scintillation with Prussian blue silhouettes of triumph. I am the pride of everyone’s eyes, a fulfillment and a longing: invincible. In the real world I am the bitterness in a coffee bean, the carbon of coal. Maybe I am only made to see beauty in construction and luminosity, not knowing I am the essence of devastation and murk, a pulverized moon rock, and that irony made me beautiful.