It is really something living

It is really something living

That song in your head, playing over and over and bringing a smile to your eyes. that beautiful shell stumbled upon on the beach last year now nestled on your bookshelf next to Tolstoy and Brown. even that, the bread lightly smeared with just enough nut butter set...
the walls of the world flare, widen~

the walls of the world flare, widen~

The hum of the fan wakes me or so I first guess as I open my eyes but then I see it the view just beyond the cheap metal blinds and narrowing my focus past the tired personality- less walls the water the trees swaying in an early quick breeze the grass green from...

it has been written

a hundred times a thousand. perhaps millions. the effort to tell has been given so many words so much expression so much beauty yet even in this it all falls short until you read it in yourself.

in love~

there was nothing familiar about it Absolutely nothing unless of course I went to the city the seedy side the sketchy memories of rolled up car windows and tightly locked doors only in passing-through moments fleeting, in my memories return. yet it lives now boldly...