There’s a cord that gets cut after long hours of toil. The cord that let you breathe under water. The cord that gave you strength to criss-cross your palms. The cord that was the connection. The voice, the music, the repeated thuds. The bridge to bring you closer to reality. That one reality that severed the cord. The reality being so absurd that maybe one day you might wish you would have drowned in that same water you were nurtured in. You didn’t want to come out. But then you did. The cord was broken. There was pain of some sort. There was some kind of helplessness. Or was it just pure evil because you were you? But then things smelled pleasantly different. As if flowers from a different planet had bloomed. The music was heard again. There were voices, as if joy was being woven back into a torn parasol, bringing back the cool shade. You thought it was surreal, the colors, the happiness. But you knew that the warmth that surrounded was of truth. Of love. Of utter, pure faith in man. All over again. The cord you knew, had been sewn back.