I understand. The brake lights and suffering silence. I left you an amulet to caress the bodily combination as One. To weigh and caress your skin, as a key, a map to dreams and a new dwelling. Large and inviting the door towards Jazz, beautiful and dissonant at the same time. A room where you can wander at a languorous pace or dance with great passion. A space that you make and own through gentleness and love. The bulwark against all that is hurtful and in evil follows. A connection first, soothing, immortal dreams of completeness to be written as the life of its cousin, an orchid growing among fetid air and waste and scarcity. But oh, at the end of its labors, such beauty. I have one sitting upon my plant stand, surviving existing against all odds from the store’s threshold to my home.

I will write no more, seek no more, for the brake pedal is yours. How and where you will to travel, that is the glory of the flower among the shit. Owning itself, but attractive to the distant horizon, where I choose to wander.

I took my life’s path so long ago because I could not bear to be poor while others lived along my way as though they were my faint shadow groveling in the ghetto. And I, in my rich powers was still frequently looked upon as invisible and inconsequential in the wide world. So, I have these rooms for remembrance and safe haven.