WHEN THE CHILDREN CRY 

Tears of blood, they are beautiful to bleed. O mighty Albatross! Fly away, to breathe. 

If only humans had wings, or do we? Sure, we do have flights of imagination, but can we stay there forever? No one knows, for those who have flown away have never bothered to look back. When the children cry, they are not a beautiful bleed. All we can say is, just breathe. Your city of angels will dawn on you some day, till then; tie your wounds of misery with the rags of hope that you clung onto. For there are no hopeless dreams, no hopeless expectations, no hopeless desires as long as you breathe, so as long as you live and so as long as you strive. And the blood you shed then, dear, they are beautiful to bleed. Because they are not just the red that runs through your veins day in and day out, they are the proof of your very existence. The worthwhile existence that will leave a mark in this beautiful world before you plunge into an alternative universe where days are nights and nights are days. A place where your dreams are miseries and your misery, a dream. Until then, weep away child. Weep till you bleed the mark of your existence, your worthwhile existence. And dearest Albatross, fly far away. Flap your wings high, for your flight might cause a miracle or a cyclone; or what we call as ‘The Butterfly Effect’.