My mind puffs up like those big white mushrooms while my lungs puff in the smoke. The fingers, constricted by their only faith and love, stretch out. The theorizing and analysing mind plagued by the heat of thermodynamics and exothermic reactions is now cooled by the saviour, the stories and metaphors. It knows where it's call is but what do you do when you're torn between want and need? Between the higher ground and your talentless art? You never did chase the peace, you're not going to start now. But maybe 30 years down the road, if it all does go pear shaped and you're still in your garden of regrets, the only thing left to do would be wishing for peace to be upon the younger you, far away in some distant dimension.