We’ve created a room of our own. We build our space, starry space with fluorescence light bulb and glowing flame. As they grow, I won’t leave. I cannot. The space’s getting bigger, and it has filled, as always, with our warm conversation about future, our growing hot sexual air, our icy cold argumentation. We’re getting stronger. The bound, the understanding. Each heart grows flower, different kinds of flower that connected to other’s flower-growing heart to tighten and hold onto them. Our space is a vine yard. Never been disconnected.