I like the smell of grass after rain. The light breeze of the wind carries the earthy musk of the rain-drenched grass gently hitting against my face.
Often contented by simple events, from far I look like a simple person.
Yet I am never simple. The inane ability to synthesize facts and information contradicts all simplicity that I value so much.
The overly simplistic likings are perhaps an over compensation for the complexity that is apparent in me.
I just want to be a simple person.
But I cannot.