Can't hear your voice, but
Vibrations ripple through me...
Transparent water bottles
smell of fresh books...
Here?
Hurricanes, heavy rain and cold...
The awe of turning old,
winds your blooms away...
Seeker:
_Master! teach me you...
A mirror stranger,
a parallel line in motion...
A writer not only writes what the writer feels but the writer can also feel what the writer writes |
Being in love is like playing with fire you always get burned |
Must keep my eyes open, can't fall asleep yet, I'm widely wake, but for how long? |