Sometimes you can miss the beauty of the city you live in.
And sometimes you can miss the beauty of the women you live with.
Just like you can miss the silent compassion of others, and their secret pain.
Just like the river flow beneath my feet, and clouds obscure the stars, my heart beats to the rhythm of the truth.
You thought this would last forever, but you're thirty and you ask: "when does the death come?"
Although you do your best, the next moment you see how moronic you're, you laugh at old jokes, and nod like an ancient patriarch concerned about the future of his daughters...
...telling them immortal truths they'll pass on.
But the next moment, you just refuse it, and cycle to a place you wish to call home.