White noise is more audible here.

But seeing it a creature of sentimentality, the noise prevails here, albeit less frequent.

I don't know why is this happening. I don't know why it has to happen. 

I haven't felt genuinely happy in a long time.

It was a perfect day for a good rest. There was no right or wrong, yet somehow balance was omnipresent. The scale that held the account between right and wrong was wrecked by the course of love. It didn't matter anymore who was more righteous, who lied, white or otherwise, because only goodness persisted. There were no rules, but evil didn't perpetuate. Jealousy had no place in the perfect place. No one wanted her anywhere; her exile was imminent, albeit temporary. They enjoyed her absence while they could. 

In the centre of the peaceful place, the band playing rueful music into the air dissipated. Their dirge was no longer appreciated, a happier moment was about to commence. Each inexplicably relaxed his grip on the musical instrument he was holding; the guitar, the drum stick and the violin crashed onto the marble ground in unison, creating a symphony of closure. They left, but a group of fresh looking people came into the scene. A clamour erupted in the background, people were curious who these strangers were. A plough roared at them, so the person who appeared to be the frontman picked up the microphone and spoke through it into the din. His voice was calm and mellifluous, like the scent of spring at the end of a dreadful winter. The crowd was silenced, they knew what was going to come. A new music would be created. His was not a bravado aimed to please, but an honest yearning to mete out the joy he was overwhelmed with. He wanted others to share the joy he was showered upon.

The guitarist started to pluck the strings on his instrument; the drummer, with his right foot on the pedal, the sticks within his grasp, started to percuss gently on the drum and the cymbal. The cadence of the beautiful rhythm persisted for a few minutes. The vocalist, sensing that the timing was ripe, entered with his coarse, yet soulful voice. The crowd began to drown in the music this band was producing. They were enchanted; every eye was closed in hope their hearing could be enhanced. None intended to waste any single moment of redolence that flowed alluringly into their ears. 

The music continued. The flowers bloomed. The hue of the green contrasted brightly against the red and blue of the petals. A meek sun shone luminously in the mild sky. Magnificent blue clouds shrouded  the globe of fire shyly, as if covering her shame, therefore preventing the hopeful inhabitants below from catching a sunburn. The music seemed to have mollified its stifling anger. 

They were playing Sweet Disposition.