emilyincolor
Everything is helter-skelter, upside down, and tilted. There goes the floor, away again.
Soft silken ribbons branching down, cascading, caressing; the gentle green leaves bathed in light; aging brown bark dignified in its solemn pose; you are my tree.
That one single drop
did rest oh so quietly
upon one pale cheek
The lines are blurred and the paint is still wet. The charcoal is smeared and the graphite is messy; oh there was a shape alright, it was just....indistinct.
Now this, this would be life.
As she looked and glanced and reveled and danced in the light, she wondered what she was missing; what could she be missing in the light of the moon.
So she turned and looked back, and it followed her; what could she be missing in the light of the moon.
She asked; and it replied "nothing."
This is one word that does not apply to life; there is no "bleak" when there is paint, and there is song. Do not be dragged by "bleak" towards that abyss of thought. LIVE.