the four right chords can make me cry

faces in the crowd

i liked this one, he was recklessly calm. and suphaap to boot.

he was pristine. transcendent, above all of the din and oil and woks and eggs. and oasis of tranquility, still pools in his eyes. i want to cultivate that look, bordering on glazed.

she was sublime. the worlds orbited around her in her great girth. so coy, so subtle; everyone had missed it; except for me. one hand, briefly pressed in another, speaking volumes of tenderness, in a language only understood between mother and child. or do i presume or impose?

his windows were oddly framed, deeply tinted. it was almost as though he didn't want anyone to look in. i'm not sure, but i think i saw.

posted by beckyboo @ 1:26 PM