I really like the feeling of a song under my fingers. Although I feel less like an artist than ever, I still wonder how you
can grow flowers when there's no sun
or rain, an ugly shadow. Flowers
bloom anywhere, not people. Some people I guess. It feels as though I'm trapped in an endless expanse of time - as though I am J.S. Bach, composing pieces for his sons to play
effortlessly under their fingers.
Right before I drink coffee I can feel the image in my mind of a thousand uncultivated flowers wasting in the dirt, crying for help but not getting any. Sure, there were men I have loved and love, but there is so much more behind the curtain of humanity
walk through a museum and you will
find elegant beauty surrounding you
the women that have framed history
with their hard work, patience, and ability
to not give a **** about anyone.
I can't seem to find the balance between beauty and talent, I just leap forward blindly into a world I have never seen before and never will see again
afraid, and alone, and bound to be left
with no one but myself.
I long for a feline companion.
i don't know what this is, just random thoughts and musings i guess