Gravity is one word I'd gotten to know that its a force to be reckon with, also an abject of my greatest deprivation. I've been crying for gravity eversince. When I was 5, it had sent me down th stairs &I landed among abrasions &humiliation, that I developed a conscious hatred towards th deceiving flight of concrete, & th escalators which I always thought had immaculate power of evil; only that I cried whenever I was left alone to step on th latter cause I always imagined it swallowing me alive. &Now that I'm 18, I'd fill my disdain down with melancholy music &little food as possible, because gravity had always dragged me all th way back to my starting point with insufficient pigment of solitary advice. Th only logic I feed myself was that gravity is an accustomed silence to remind us where we've been &that th things we fall back on is th most precious thing we wouldn't compromise. Gravity is precious to philosophers, to people in love, to people who lost their way, &to human kind. We wont know what we're suppose to be if not for gravity.