Dive Deep into Creativity: Discover, Share, Inspire
golden threads like spools of glazed time, rippling over skin reflected upon or emboldened in time? slivers of voices trapped in the warm rays touching and painting your hair, wisps of unwound paths waiting to be caught. so many red strings, fluttering like our erratic beating, yet I'm left weaving tapestries from bare scraps of discarded lint. furious stitching, from the timed ripples dying, words of a melody barely coaxed by red and blemished fingers. the same golden threads, now remain unspooled, what a mess, caged like a broken Wallace. soft goodbyes left unsaid, braids woven for ultimate indifference. what knot did we miss for the tapestry to burn and not shine? the yellow so dull like jaundiced eyes but the red so stark like first drawn blood.
How can you not expect me to get attached when the first thing you said to me was, 'oh you've read that book?'