A little melancholy. A little meditation on red bamboo. Enough to explain myself this evening. Not enough to be different.
A pebble thrown into my heart made circles in my feelings. I now observe the course of life as a work of your art.
Every day a part of me flies away. Where and why? I don’t know anymore. Maybe someone remembers me. On its top floor.
I’d like your forget-me-nots. In looks, the hugs, the words. Believe me, I’m not crying. But… I’d like another twenty-four hours. On the fragments that I will hide in my memory.
I am fascinated by the dance of my beloved. The kids say, ” Mom looks like an Indian girl here.” I agree: “Well, yes, she is from the Mayan tribe!”.
You can imagine yourself as a butterfly. To know the flapping of wings as the beating of the heart. Understand and accept the beauty within yourself.
I know my color-the light of the inner fire. And in the bud of my moods there is everything. Only you are missing.
I walk from the black stripe to the white one. And then I run back to you. How do I connect these two extremes? They’re both beautiful. To the point of ugliness.
I’m standing with the current. Where it’s hard to go unnoticed. I still don’t understand the circumstances of this coincidence. I’m almost on My Way. I’m almost Milky. That’s my story – endless.
Once a woman found a tiny chick. I brought him home and took care of him. Over time, the bird grew into a beautiful swan.
In your sun my lace. They’ll spin a web at some point. Searing light glides through the threads. I’m barely alive under the heat of it…
Music inspires us to new ideas and creativity. We dream when the soul sings.
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