Our offbeat rhythms wear me out. I'm tired of sitting here and wondering when these tears will turn to pearls, when our memories will be spun of gold. Every day I weave the fabric of our lives together, and every night you cut the strings.
(a.k.a. the attempt of a writer to exercise her imagination)
Our offbeat rhythms wear me out. I'm tired of sitting here and wondering when these tears will turn to pearls, when our memories will be spun of gold. Every day I weave the fabric of our lives together, and every night you cut the strings.
No comments:
Post a Comment