Sandpaper Images

Ah, the wonder of passing time, whisking away the thoughts of patience. Can you not help but wonder what life has in store? Sandpaper images are all I find, seemingly corrosive to every second. The guilt of innocence of what pains me— why is it so? A stream of a river, beautiful mountain of blessed memory have no place in the disciplined and trained mind. And once having realized the fact, I crumple up the sandpaper images and then do I realize that my hands are scratched and begin to bleed. Where was the beauty in that? How could I have been so blind? I can't bear to think of the consequences of shutting out one's emotions. What do you see? More important—how do you feel? Therein can most questions truly be answered.