a thousand paper cranes.papercuts bleed drops of red on white and instead of looking sweet my paper cranes look gruesome. a mass murder of birds in flight a pile of pale corpses in a basket. it took me 4 days to create one thousand wings and elegant long necks with triangles and folds over and over again. one thousand slices to my fingertips one thousand secrets hidden in the folds of symmetry written in letters too small too read. and now that I've filled this cheap wicker basket to the top with tiny drops of red, secrets and paper cranes i get one wish. and all i want ia thousand paper cranes.
ephemeral seasons.We step outside into the first rain of autumn. a river of fallen leaves passes us carrying ants in great brown leaf boats. our hands interlock between a thick layer of wool-knit gloves, and you jokingly tell me about all the great adventures those ants will have. and as you speak, i marvel at the idea that something so small could be so brave.ephemeral seasons.
Our feet hit the pavement and slosh around in dark murky puddles and i tell you that autumn is my favorite season as you smile up into the dark gray sky and listen.
The cold bitter morning passes slowly and makes the s
the mantra of our youth.we believe in love like our hearts will burst without it when all the world falls to turmoil our romance will survive because ruins and burning buildings mean little to young loversthe mantra of our youth.
with similar carelessness we feign dramatic movie script heart aches and feuds because in our reality it is all life is about
we act as though our dreams are all that matter shoot for the stars they say never give up. so we spend our lives chasing dreams and being disappointed
but they never tell of the millions of happy souls who laugh
a shift in balance.all my life is a balancing act and my heart and soul work together to keep my feet on the ground. i am afraid to fall.a shift in balance.
all my friends are growing older and they stare in amazement at the possibilities that they can see just on the horizon and i strain my eyes and clean my glasses but nothing is visible to me. not yet.
so i am left behind. left to balance an ever moving world, as fragile as a glass vase as heavy as my thoughts.
all the world is beautiful and every day i think about seeing it. i plan my great escape.
but when i finall
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Eşti ca o sticlă de whiskey.Ca 200 de gemene.
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www. s n b - f o t o .hu
when I don't take photos: ~borart
it's truly appreciated.
lots of love,
-megan.
drop by anytime!
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if hell's full of people like me it cannot possibly be boring, I'm awesome!...and totally humble
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i can't live without today.
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na.-
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"No great artist ever sees things as they really are. If he did, he would cease to be an artist."
~ Oscar Wilde ~
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