I read it. The wind had brought that whisper to me. A sigh, an utterance - a breath of rememberance that has travelled through this space, crept this web of cosmos; flown through time and then sat behind the bars in the window pane.
It is the rose that has bloomed somwhere outside my prison, which I cannot see, but somtimes in the night its fragrance makes me restless. I have read it again and again. The words are simple, and the message is short. There is a storm in me however, that has brewed since forever, and now your words have blown away my shelter from this storm in me. Soon it will start hailing and I have no where to take refuge.
1 comment:
now this is nice.
theres just enough mystery, and just enough humility
you make yourself vulnerable. it becomes you.
at long last a post that made me happy. i couold smell the faint whiff of roses when i read that line.
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