Friday, June 4, 2010

Dream to fly

Have you ever felt like a story will write itself?
Or like a painting is drawn on it's own?
How about a dance, where your feet are moving all by themselves?

Inspiration is drawn by any surrounding. It moves through the air, it is in the aroma of a rose, the beauty, the crimson tint. The laughter, the love, the smiles. The sadness, the loneliness, the tears. If you're given inspiration, don't let it go. You don't know when you'll be given it again. It comes and goes as it wishes, similar to the flight of a butterfly, or a thunder storm during a drought. But it is a beautiful thing.

The rubber band on my wrist says it all: Happiness.

41 days. Almost, my love.

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