healing patterns, unmissable deals with your subconscious as you watch yourself move
who are you to judge yourself? you cold hearted human.
it's cold outside. the wind is singing with the trees, a taunting tune to send something run down your shoulders from above (or below? you were never good at remembering the tiny details)
fog creeps and wind flies. no one can see ideas.
you are an idea; a sudden idea which is forgotten quickly. one of those 'what if' kind of scenarios.
i am the wind. you force me underwater to carry waves of an ocean made of stone. unmovable. therefore it is the same when moving points of view, i've noticed.
so the sky is painting, what does it paint? an empty canvas of nothing? what does nothing look like?
why is it painting like it has somewhere to be? nature has a way of baffling my mind too far.
too far, she whispers.
and now i've gotten carried away...
-l xx
