Inspiration only comes during the hours of the dead; a time where drowsiness hit the hardest, and yet your hand just move on its own with a blurry picture in mind, trailing the movements of the songs played at the moment, and for the moment.
And because I do not have creativity, I just have to rely on the vague path that I see in my vision, trailing -with my hands and my faithful-ol' buddy- the melody that's playing; the song of the moment.
For however the song's path may affect the blurry vision of the moment, the blank paper will turn into a magnificent individual of its own, unique in its ways, a deviant of the lot of whites.
Now won't you agree with me, that a piece of white paper is the playground for wild imaginations? A place where 'they' are, and you just have to discover them. ♥ ♥ ♥
And because I do not have creativity, I just have to rely on the vague path that I see in my vision, trailing -with my hands and my faithful-ol' buddy- the melody that's playing; the song of the moment.
For however the song's path may affect the blurry vision of the moment, the blank paper will turn into a magnificent individual of its own, unique in its ways, a deviant of the lot of whites.
Now won't you agree with me, that a piece of white paper is the playground for wild imaginations? A place where 'they' are, and you just have to discover them. ♥ ♥ ♥