Today, I read something I wrote a while ago.
“The dead look so at peace, so still; yet so stiff, and so pale.
The living look so at war, so restless; yet so flexible, and so colourful.”
I still do not understand why I wrote this, but it is time to publish it, and refer to it in the future.
I am thankful for passing thoughts, caged on a page.
Passing thoughts
