Some words are so light that they can float above us in the blue sky, like clouds. We see what we wish to see. And a cloud is a puff of mist. Here before me at one moment, moving, and then gone.
a musician/artist living in brooklyn with two l gray cats and an super-cute dog, writing about the trivial and the not-so-trivial, often sleep-deprived and benignly neurotic.
No comments:
Post a Comment