Drifting

drifting … on possibilities from a thousand masks hiding in the shadows with the dust where pain is peripheral and love is only the accidental collisions of dust towards midnight sleepless waiting for your fragrance with the silence where time is inconsequential and love is the pain we breathe in silence into you   Advertisements

Unspoken

The ballet of death as much as the ballet of life is sewn and performed together for one without the other is nothing but a memory of that unspoken thing and all together we move through the rain where bows and roses bloom knowing that come too soon is that, unspoken thing we shelter our … More Unspoken