bubblesandjellybeans
Forgotten
Some scattered thoughts...
The smell of old books is like curling up in a moth-eaten blanket. There's comfort in those yellowed pages.
I wish I would have had my camera with me. The light filtered in from behind, casting most of your face in shadow. But it fell just right that it lit up your eyes. Your eyelashes looked almost blonde. You looked almost beautiful.
Take the skies in your fist.
Run your hands through them, like a clear stream.
Bathe your hands there.
Let your fingertips drip with sunshine.
Shake the skies with thunder until the lightening comes tumbling down.
Take the skies in your fist and become the god you always were.
Forgotten
Some scattered thoughts...
The smell of old books is like curling up in a moth-eaten blanket. There's comfort in those yellowed pages.
I wish I would have had my camera with me. The light filtered in from behind, casting most of your face in shadow. But it fell just right that it lit up your eyes. Your eyelashes looked almost blonde. You looked almost beautiful.
Take the skies in your fist.
Run your hands through them, like a clear stream.
Bathe your hands there.
Let your fingertips drip with sunshine.
Shake the skies with thunder until the lightening comes tumbling down.
Take the skies in your fist and become the god you always were.