The present is the point at which the future crumbles into the past.
Maybe every man has had two such women, at least two. Married to a red rose, over time, the red becomes a mosquito blood stain on the wall, while the white remains "moonlight before the bed"; married to a white rose, the white becomes a grain of sticky rice on the clothes, while the red remains a cinnabar mole on the heart.
The truth is, I often like women. I like their unconventionality. I like their completeness. I like their anonymity.
A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless. We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us.
Adaptability is essential in a rapidly changing world.