It's warm and it's April. I am once again falling in love, not with a person, but with everything that keeps on going wrong. I remember when I was asked about what certain things scares me the most. It's getting cold and it's April. I found myself at the beach at exactly twelve in the afternoon. I watch from a distance as the boat managed to stay afloat and the shells get washed up before I could even pick them. I hold my breath and watched it disappear. I'm sad and lonely and it's April. Why else would I try and collect sea shells when the waves are restless and my doubts are endless. It's April and everytime I think about the possibility that I could be happy, The horses on the ranch would gallop their way out, leaving it's owner behind, not looking back, not even once. April confuses me. Just seconds ago it was warm, but now it's cold. There were no horses and ranch and owners, instead there was sadness and a feeling of not recognizing something that is deeply rooted in you. Why else would I write about it when I can't even understand it? It's April and I'm mad.
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My Art Is Spending My Time On The Beach
Поэзия"MY ART IS SPENDING MY TIME ON THE BEACH" is my own personal collection of thoughts that I had written while stuck in a place that's both full and empty of something that I think I am bound to discover eventually. I am still wondering why a place li...
