We just are
W hat sets our feet upon the road of endless search, through hills and valleys, roaming eyes looking for vague births and undefined beginnings. What great things do we think are there and not amidst the hush of silence. For we are blinded by the colors of the mind, by the fragrance of some lost dream or hope unfinished. The winds of restless longing blow us in all directions, desire looking behind every tree and under every rock, in the wine bottle and in the needle, amidst the pages of a... Sign in to see full entry.