If only the random plucking of the petals of the roses could decide what is, or isn’t.
If only memories could satiate the longing in my heart.
The unnatural silence after the end of a beautiful piece is killing me.
Where are you?
{ 2006 10 16 }
“I thought what I’d do was, I’d pretend I was one of those deaf-mutes.”
{ 2006 10 16 }
If only the random plucking of the petals of the roses could decide what is, or isn’t.
If only memories could satiate the longing in my heart.
The unnatural silence after the end of a beautiful piece is killing me.
Where are you?
Post a Comment