I love living in the month of November as if I vicariously felt that I'm actually the month. The breeze of embellishing air, and hairs stood like soldiers on my arms. It's just quite beautiful and mesmerizing to feel and learn about.
I treat November as if it's a poem of everything. Fingertips touching an empty mug, the flowing of slow jazz music, and mountains of foam in a jacuzzi, November is a gentle song but moves like a sizzling pan.
If only, if only I am November, the act of elegantly playing the life, I will be abstract and played like poetry.
