Vividly reliving memories of that innocence I once possessed, the care free breaths that reached a depth I had not yet discovered. Grains of salt overrunning from small scale accomplishments, success must have been blurred between lines lined with premature thoughts.
The notion that life was at a stand still while I waited, until loud vocals spilled out into the streets. Everything continues as it was yesterday, but lacking enthusiasm; lacking the kind of questions you allow God to answer.
Mine fields corrupted with seeds never swallowed, thoughts we never digested. Is it really impossible to paint portraits in the present with a paintbrush from past drawings?