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Description
The moonlight on the water
Foggy nights
The cold
Your smile and your voice
Chaotic melodies
Repetition
Ink on an aged page
Things that sparkle and shine, like pearls and opals
A smoky grey colour
The clouds of a lightning storm of the night past
The blue between two white pages that light is shining on indirectly
Breeze with pollen
Darkness
The need to release
Dark violet, sage green, creamy white and blackest black
The scent of those flowers; the pink ones I never see and always forget
Things that are broken and old
Wishes that are dying
Flames that soon will choke
Seven cups of powdered sugar
Breathing
Breaking, tearing, crying, bleeding
Serenity
The blue, blue sky with the green grass stretching out below in soft hills. The light is shining forever. Down the yellow stone path there is a grove of eucalyptus trees. It is dim and cool beneath their branches. The light slants in, down to the ground as the leaves rustle with the wind. There is an old bench. To the right is a darkness that swirls. A hand on my leg, the voice I never really knew, saying, I love you.

Description
The moonlight on the water
Foggy nights
The cold
Your smile and your voice
Chaotic melodies
Repetition
Ink on an aged page
Things that sparkle and shine, like pearls and opals
A smoky grey colour
The clouds of a lightning storm of the night past
The blue between two white pages that light is shining on indirectly
Breeze with pollen
Darkness
The need to release
Dark violet, sage green, creamy white and blackest black
The scent of those flowers; the pink ones I never see and always forget
Things that are broken and old
Wishes that are dying
Flames that soon will choke
Seven cups of powdered sugar
Breathing
Breaking, tearing, crying, bleeding
Serenity
The blue, blue sky with the green grass stretching out below in soft hills. The light is shining forever. Down the yellow stone path there is a grove of eucalyptus trees. It is dim and cool beneath their branches. The light slants in, down to the ground as the leaves rustle with the wind. There is an old bench. To the right is a darkness that swirls. A hand on my leg, the voice I never really knew, saying, I love you.