Nature cannot be sold, for it has all the sacred phenomenon, and carries along all the savoured seconds. Despite the carnage all over the west, east and on the borders. Despite the hard feelings splintered across the globe. With all the minority and major details, the trivial and the exponentials and the sanity (insanity even). All just a delusional but crystal clear conception. Nature has never been sold, and yet to be a requisite abomination to the desire of sales. We have a mythical bond since we've laid our eyes on the enchanted but weird horizons.

... When they open up the auctions to sell it, call me to start the mess. Beauty beholds serenity, and therefore cannot be replaced.