Nothing to prove Starving to move; In which world am I some humans just always are willing to snoop. Resources are scarce should I imagine to bear my expenses to Mars? Onion, eggs, cheese with an alone house to live in. Where is my heart, don't tell me. A t-shirt with full sleeves is maybe all I need. Solitude, nature and wind a state where I find myself, and a sublime peace. I live in indecision about my life, because I've a queen-size list. Is cooking my passion; or is it just a hobby? I feel like it's more of a therapy because; any interference in the process, makes me exasperate, creepy and gloomy.