….It’s when I’m silent that I speak so much…
and those who merely hear fail to understand…
You haven’t touched a canvas but with the hues on your hands, you have already painted on this pale canvas silently beating deep within…
…You’re not mine forever…
Memories, as they say, create a masterpiece.
Can we let our masterpiece create a memory?
I’m not perfect and I’m far from that…
But I’d rather stay in imperfection (having the beat within)
than stay in their perfect world (with dead people living)…
Sigh…
Sigh…
Sigh…
My canvas doesn’t lie…
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