Her eyes would swell and decompress
Like a balloon left at the mercy of a bored rascal
She was choked up till her throat
But there was no way to let it out.
The day moon turned red
Was the day the whole world looked at it
She had to go on
As subtly as possible
Quietly shedding her skin
Creeping through the poisonous bushes.
A thousand words spoken in silence
They who had been still linger in shadows.
The stories go on, the reels replay
Told, untold, then told again, faces come and go.
The monotony of my thoughts was wearing me down, as I talked to a friend of mine. He said, and I quote:
You will find it. It takes time.
When you like doing something more than you like not doing it, you will know it’s there.
How wonderful is an excerpt when extracted with simplicity.
Less is more.