The Reason

Is there really a reason? Do I really need one? What if the real reason is that its unreasonable enough to go about in the dark, trying to grope into the cluttered walls with old paintings and sepia-toned frames,with the spiders just waiting for its prey to land; and amidst the clutter, your torch suddenly flashes past by the tin soldier that you lost when you were a kid, and frantically searched for it till the last teardrop left its trail of saltdust over your cheeks? The reason is not what I care for, its the uncanny state of not finding one which enchants me.

A cake with butter-paper sticking to its side.Thats reason enough for me.