Læs dagbog

On a journey, in a blank corner of the first pages, every day.. - A space, where connections seldom quiets; her thorough puzzles, the vivid wonder; "Why..??" - Endless and tender - the place where.. Truths are woven, and truths are never sheathed..

..Of vows and woven truths..

Woven are the truths..

Truthful are the woes.

A quest of being, a lifelong roam of seeing, eyes of stature; the decryption of indication.

And she is ALL the blooming dawn of knowing!!

AND WE..!????

"She's been there, still, she's been here, tell! - We saw it, we squashed it, we came, we crushed it!!"

And HER...!!???

.. In her, the silent silent roars and roams - in the absence of it all, all in guarded whispers; somewhere, on those first pages..

She knows.

Not yet knowing, now. But now, she knows, knowing,

She will..

From those eyes.. And those gentle blossom lips, nothing shall be muttered, but all of it written..

The darkness shall be light.

In time..

Her fate.. like Luther's lighting.. she promised.. so long ago..

Does she remember still..? What send her on her journey..?

Her perception, yes; their resignation. - Her wit; yet, her true domination. - And, in that, an anchor of frustration? - A tie of deep, that karma's a bitch - a bleeding stitch..? - Her words, a razor: a blade of struggled remorse; Always needed, always bleeding..

Or did she, simply, never.. give in..?

The ties of a seer, the whispers of the crowds.. they, so long, will never see, and for them.. you are just.. The Quiet Girl..

Will she ever losen her tounge.. again..?

By Simon