Analysis of Blur of Bird Flight

Jnrkgfnr rngfjrklwqg rjwolqfnrrkjlw fioewqnfiorwjel fnekrlwqnf ekjwl ;nfklrewq fgrwklqgnrw rkf ff fjf fmf ff fjf fjf fjf fjf fjfmfkf ffkf fkf diewm firir fkfk eoeoekm
Last night you wrote a brilliant ad campaign. It played the chords of longing and love as if you were a master of both. You got a great response to it. Today you were almost all smiles, radiance itself, though you’re suffering. Can’t really smile.
Yesterday, you were your self. Tomorrow you’re a new person. It’s today that matters though, and it’s today that it’s the most difficult to make sense of.
But the beats of the days seem like they fade with the amplification of their volume. Days blend into memories of their uniqueness- a touch, a hand hold, a kiss. A memory to hold dear to your heart. To remind you of the possibility of bliss.
The campaign you wrote was all about love. You still feel it with your heart. In fact, you can’t help but feel it. Sometimes it’s the most exhilarating feeling in the world. Today, and yesterday, it feels like your stomach turned inside out.
As much as you wish you could diminish the feeling it still exists. And you know that it’s the best, or, at least, the most real, feeling in the world.
You know that any combinations of songs won’t cure the loss that your heart feels. You know that only comes slowly, steadily, and not quite rationally. And that, fortunately, love is the product of the only known perpetual motion machine. It doesn’t exist independently, or in a lonesome abyss. It exists all around us, constantly pointing us towards bliss.