For all the times you close your eyes, and see the perfection behind it, remmember, such thing do not exist. What do exist is the memories of something that has already been, and now it looks perfect, because it is so far away in time, and you wish you could go back. But deep inside you know, that it wouldn’t be better, that moment wasn’t that perfect. The colours you use to paint it, are those you are perfect.

The perfect illusion created by your imperfect memories.

M.A.