Rock in slow and I will show you how.
Open the reflection of the door and I will let myself into the shadows of the night.
I stood in front of you and you held my friendship of respect.
The door was open, there was a gust of unusually predictable-unpredictable winds. I took out my umbrella, wrote a little, read some books and learned about some interesting things inbetween. I thought about this and that. You, me, them. Them.
I peer over his shoulder. I am curious to see what it is that he is staring at on his canvas. But if I know him, it will be something remarkable. Perhaps a commentary on the muses. Or perhaps religion. Yes, religion.
Once there lived monsters under my bed. I did not enjoy there company. Sometimes they visit me when I do not wish for them at all!
I close my eyes and squeeze the temples of head without touching them. I can't get an answer yet, it is too abstract.
I watch them around me everywhere. Those who create and inspire life. They are often over shadowed by the idea of wealth, but no matter how poor their pockets, you can not steal their talent to articulate expression.
I can't hold it anymore, I wanna dance. The world is a dancefloor darling...
I am sorry.
The words came from a place deep waiting the feeling of the page.
The ink was dry but her mind wet. She has written to remind herself of...
They were all just mortal sinners. But what were they guilty of?
The grass was green, she rolled on it until everyone could see the green stain on her jeans. She rolled around in amusement that she could feel the sun on her face and see the grassy green in her jeans.
Science proves it?
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