Intransigence

He turned the pages upside down, closed his eyes and gazed within.

A wonderfully beating heart filled up his chest; his breath outwitted him every second.

He is used to being mellowed by the sense of his own being, every now and then.

For a few moments every day, vanity seemed egalitarian; for doesn’t pleasant complexity lie in everyone? Isn’t every other being just a little kind? Just a little pretty?

But then, the breath responds with a touch of remembrance.