| threads subtle and harmonious, even the snow sings it's own song, quietly crashing through the winter's midnight moonlight. walking across the pale pearl frozen world, narrowly avoiding the confines of shadows of trees. this is the land of wasted thoughts; where living lives, and life is a far off place, far too distant to remember. a vail of innocence blankets my world, leaving me naked and exposed (threading something to nothing leaves little to wear) |