Cute Quotograph… and everything


every little thing...


11 gânduri despre „Cute Quotograph… and everything

    • …leave behind a sparkling trail of sky dust, covering each petal and leaf in fine glitter that would shine ethereally in the sunlight for the rest of the day. She was wondering if the lovely specks of dust were magically flying off his wings or…

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      • … if they were a kind of golden promise that he would come back so she wouldn’t feel so much his absence. Serenade of light for the day; the sky dust would banish after the twilight. Serenade of words in her mind; a red rose would love to have wings to fly with him. So one day she asked with her heart a miracle and in that point when the sky has a timeless blue a bit before the dark night…

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        • …she heard a sound out of the window, a murmur quivering in pale aurora hues. It came from away, like a chant, but felt close like the light of the first stars caressing the air with its pearly fingers. She listened. The softly-hued tune sent velvet ripples through the blue of the night, like a pulse, running through every fiber and thread. Flickering shadows reflected from the dusk’s amber tones were like a mirror image of the sweet golden glitter resting on her petals during the day. Sunlit dance of sky dust in her heart, and a whisper…

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          • … made a muted melody, so subtle softness that nobody near could hear her words with wishes; daydreaming fantasies and fairy tales far away. She cannot notice that the dusk is dressing her eyes with reflections of a sky that seems made of wine, tinting her skin with cinnamon warmth.

            Not far away there is a shadow, it’s one of the princes from the beginning watching her. He is not a bad person but he’s blind, as a shadow black in the garden in his blindness he thinks he can figure out a way to be with her and distance her thoughts from the hug she has of the winged man. And then… he is here! outside of his usual time… Why does the heart complicate us so much?…

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            • Why do dreams sway in the breeze of our days, like air sweeping across the skies, near and far? And why is it that things which are worthwhile never seem to be without complications? The shadow in the garden, she knew the blindness, the deafness… But her being was aglow with one song, the only one she would resonate to, the tune of the silken sparkles on the magical wings, as if made of sun and stars. That was always there! …coat of soft glitter in her days, unnoticeably dressing her sight in warm hues at dusk.
              So she gazed over the clouds, feeling her rose color and scent can be one with the sky dust left behind at dawn, to take flight and arch together over the horizon like a rainbow, vanishing into a miraculous embrace. Then one night after twilight, through thoughts of the pink aurora, her veiled whisper was heard by the wind blowing in gusts. The zephyr took it and carried it gently over waters and lands. After midnight it reached far, so very away, touching the glow of the winged man’s flight…

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