Tis a long but forgotten thing, penning out ones thoughts while being alone with oneself. Never enough time to be alone. Oh how paper and pen in hand, made me feel so alive, more alive then actual living.
I could sit for hours and stare into the soulless world, with out a care
then my pen in hand, write a endless symphony that flowed
effortlessly from my heart and mind like water over rocks.
I felt alive in a way that only another writer could know. I rarely visit myself here and feel as if...
I am lost in a cloud.
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 9:47 AM UTC
Tis a long but forgotten thing, penning out ones thoughts while being alone with oneself. Never enough time to be alone. Oh how paper and pen in hand, made me feel so alive, more alive then actual living.
I could sit for hours and stare into the soulless world, with out a care
then my pen in hand, write a endless symphony that flowed
effortlessly from my heart and mind like water over rocks.
I felt alive in a way that only another writer could know. I rarely visit myself here and feel as if...
I am lost in a cloud.
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