My lonely life

In my parlor, I tilt my head and glance through the window over the sky, I ponder. The radiance of sun powers the land while the clouds drift randomly in a stochastic manner with all its ethereality. The melody of nature and the sparkling tones of the contrasting color in the sky are dancing merrily. An angelic bird, with agreeable personality, flits in front of the picturesque which its familiarity reinvigorates my reminiscence of that specific warm feeling although the feelings no longer dominating in some aspect as it was partly stained by the hopeless despair. Once again, the feeling is only transient, I sigh. Perhaps I should remain passive indeed. I ponder again with curiosity. The clouds may not actually move in a random sense, perhaps, in a predestinated way, like fate. I wonder if we are writing history or just reviewing history and if our story is already published. I wonder if there is any good ending in my story and who are going to share my story.