I’ve realized that life is understood only in moments and never as a whole. On some days, I feel I’m floating, with nothing to pull me down. The breeze feels like a rhythm that’s being played for me and the sky looks just like the blue sky I coloured when I was 7. On some days, I remember how the new box of crayons made me feel. Like, I have the power of colouring the world the way I want. And, on some days I realize there is nothing so poetic about life and it all comes down to sadness and broken aspirations. When the night seems like a never-ending war you fight with yourself, and when peace seems unachievable. There are nights when I just lay in bed, knees held to my stomach, my soul accepting the fact there is no one to bring a morning full of sunshine. I’ve understood life multiple times and every time it has been completely different, but still the same.