Purple, not the lilac, comes into my palette, the calling from my deep heart.

Once I wrote a poem, Story of Breasts, thinking of that the journey of a breast is reflected by the different shades of Red. The darker the shade, the closer to there - - - a place only dwelling in my imagination. I also thought that its journey was full of love. Not true. Happiness only happens to happy breasts. There are still so many sad and unloved ones.

But whenever - whoever holds the breasts, gently and lovingly, s/he is holding the weight of time, holding the awakening towards the light of Love.