.
.
My room is my canvas.
My work is my paint.
And the dreams in my mind, the tools I create.
.
My room is my canvas.
My work is my paint.
And the dreams in my mind, the tools I create.
As always, summer calls for a change and as new souls start to coyly weave their songs through the dances of light, I learn to listen to their beats and find my own rhythm in time. For now, I am to lay within an empty frame whilst the shadows from tonight leave their footprints as a trail, waiting to be found..
No comments:
Post a Comment