Often money is taciturn when it
comes to matters of comfort and aesthetics. We sheltered in places far too dangerous
like a lion’s den, and relished in luxuries scarce as children’s laughter. Tolerance
on willful misfortunes taints the evergreen landscape like thorny seasonal
durians. They sprout unsupervised and profit unapologetically. Rich lands
rendered putrid while rich recreation exists in dreams. Dreams where pretty
things lull our senses and pillow our tender limbs, which sounds preposterous to
suggest money to be wasted on turning lucid thoughts into something tangible. Perhaps
wonders of the mind should not interfere with the currency of the living, and
be silently content of its existence among the clouds.