a brief stroll in the garden

sunshine, blooming flowers, scraping of shoes over the pebbled path. these are precisely the things i live for, yet somehow i do not think i could ever bring myself to sacrifice anything of mine to remake them if they shall ever be undone. and all i possess is this body, this mind, and perhaps you--though i dislike calling it possession. what we have is truly something worth keeping, and all these superfluous entities and phenomena are never anything to rely on. we have ourselves, and this could be the only universal truth.