There are always these ethereal figures dancing around me.
They are colourless and their emotions are so so light as if they could not hurt.
They want to get out of my fingers,
forever shaping them because they keep changing and swirling.
They are not really wearing masks, because a mask hides the true.
Not wearing masks, because these masks are part of them and just tiny parts of a hole.
We are all made of many many parts that keep
changing and swirling and waving and peacefully turmoiling.