Hello, Creation.

The contains of this life are far more extraordinary beyond the four walls I’m imprisoned by. The expansions of my sight reign from corner to corner, not from valley to green field after family of song birds. I aspire to be, not to see, but to hold, not to flutter past. I anticipate the flight – flight to passage. Not the body working, but the heart impaired with soul. The emotion and pain far too great to subside with overjoy. The sun – what is “sun?” A large, yellow, imperative – to – life element? But if not there, would we partake in adaption? The possibility of existence is leaning toward one answer, possibly toward the other, depending on the owner of sight, but yes. We would evolve into creatures, shaded by night, shaded by day, brought into the expected, doomed by the unexpected. The perspective of one. Or perhaps, through the eyes of one.