A woman of few words. A smile not to be seen yet overwhelmingly apparent. She winks to herself. Her voice is as soft as the breeze in tall grass. It is music. All things vanish other than she. This is now. This is a long time ago. This has never changed, never been touched, forever been sought. She is the proof of all things that might otherwise have been. It is good to know that they were real. It is good, in the end, to know that much.
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Monday, March 9, 2020
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A woman of few words. A smile not to be seen yet overwhelmingly apparent. She winks to herself. Her voice is as soft as the breeze in tall grass. It is music. All things vanish other than she. This is now. This is a long time ago. This has never changed, never been touched, forever been sought. She is the proof of all things that might otherwise have been. It is good to know that they were real. It is good, in the end, to know that much.
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