paint drops and scratches of a silver canvas
A breeze of moonlight and wine and new years strangers with sad stories in their eyes, violent stories.
i am a beer sort-of girl. recently i've found myself a fan of cream port, and how dramatic and swift my mind reels before the memories of those i have loved.. words on wine are a spiral staircase to the soul.
"my silent mouth can only kiss the air...." (carmel)
i write by candle light, incense of the moon and a black laced window..
in my heart i feel a need to cling to old security
concentrating on the strange task of day to day survival.
"what are you looking for? what have you found?"
i can never define what i've found. i look for calm seas, messengers of the soul, moments to capture.. Now sunshine, now storm - moments of intrigue and inspiration. i search to search. i love to love.
my conscience is lost, searching for her bed..
as a child i wrote little rhyme songs of animals in forests to capture the beat of the human heart, then my words became a softer, sadder melody in tune with the world around me. i watch faces for tradgedy and engrave my versions of their lives in diary form. two years ago when i attended highschool, during lunch i would write plans for my novel, and now she breathes herself, with me to guide and listen to her..