Last night, I saw a sky full of stars in the muddy puddles and today I woke up to the caress of sunlit warmth. I could hear tintannabulary chimes in the shady halls of my heart and I thought it was time to explore the heavenly art. To kick start and to play my part.

So, I rode my blue bicycle to the nearest vintage shop that had silver bells hanging over the wooden door. It had a cosy scent absorbed in the brightest of its corners as if rainwater and sunlight had made love overnight to create rainbows deep inside its core.

Such pretty flowers aligned on its window sill and I forgot that I had to pay a bill. For the world map, that I hold still. All crumpled up in the pocket of my ripped jeans, along with my will. That says that you live for the thrill. The thrill of it all.

And, if one day, you climb the morning hill, you'll know that it's always better than the sleeping pill. Oh dude, come on, for once, you have to chill.
For the thrill. Of it all.