she sits beautiful and rocking, sadness seeping in woven multicolours of foreign threads, no pretension nor derision, but pure and clean emotion pouring out, willing.
red eyes beckon beyond knowledge to truth of friendship in hope to better days, lighter thoughts and brighter still.
hope will not always curl and compress snatching illusions and cracking up. i want to make it better. does silence bathe and balm - or sting like winter nettles?