Dulcet winds of violoncello plays my room. It has already composed a quartet of an opera, embracing the silence of mutiny ..... of several instruments that propose lying scattered thereto.

Faint knocks on the front door. Listen. Recompense - a pledge not a mercy. Do not look beyond.

I seek not to ignore, not to look away into the distant. I wish not to armour myself against uncalled saccharine glee floating at the corner of my eyes. Smile with less scruple, as I am willing to.

I want to.

I have to.

I shall.

Celebrate.