Untitled, a new page of diary. Sound of rain, hidden in a dark, at the other side of the window. Given promises and fear of the past, given promises and fear of the future, given promises and fear of old mistakes, given promises and the given promises. Smoky is the air that feeds us. The legs are tired of standing and the eyes tired of waiting. On a dry lip, wrong words printed by desire.
Someone, somewhere, would be thankful for pillow. Someone, somewhere, would be thankful for sound. Someone, somewhere would be thankful for chance.
look, up on the hill
a snow cap not melted yet
however spring leaves
Linked to Carpe Diem #1045 departing spring