Hope is like a spot of oil, as it lazily crawls and spreads out on the surface. It grows thin and dim, and the water now is dirty. Can you pull it out from the soil? It's going to rot down there, in this moist ground, in this cold and rigid and moist ground as it stays there. But the ball is jumping up and down on the tense surface, it jumps up and down and up and down. Why? Perhaps the Cosmos itself is a mansion with lamps on the sidewalks and a promise of a warm cup of hot chocolate in the cold and still night, as it offers comfort in front of the active fireplace. Hot chocolate and fireplace go hand in hand, like marriage, but I can't imagine warm soup interfering with their beautiful relationship - it ruins the aesthetic. Neither hot chocolate nor the fireplace individually go well with the warm soup. Though, it is delicious and comforting. What goes well with it? The trees fall for some reason to the sides as the huge lizard pushes them away rudely, like it wants to point the attention of all to itself: "here I am, I am such, bask in and fear my greatness", it roars. I eagerly light the wand and on the tip of it light up sparks like fireworks. Falling free from the sky into the ocean is exciting. All things are many. When and if and chance. Jumping, jumping and jumping in this bouncy castle. It's small and I can reach the ceiling with my tiny hand. I don't understand claustrophobes. Small places are comfy. For what is what and where is why and such biz are occurrences be fly up in the mountain as they wheel and flags are overdue in motors for a lovely carnival.