Life is like a meandering river of sorrow. When life is great, it soars the sky like a sparrow.
Unlike the meandering river and the soaring sparrow, life is a vast work of art. I don't mean the colourful, expressive kind of art.
The Art of Living is a perpetuated feeling of torment, torture and terror. It's a nightmare coated with salt and pepper. It burns hotter than the sun, and leaves scars that never heal.
It's like the sun-kissed shores of an island- radiant and beautiful on the outside, but deserted.
Consider it a blessing or a curse, but it can never be both.