winter changes a lot of things.
the forest sings hymns of a frozen country, the ice shields our forgotten memories, blue seas have long to journey before they turn to mist, these are the days from an artist's messy canvas, the pine trees are covere...
Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.
for the longest time, i've felt like the pine tree that grows alone- almost sad, just almost. the way my heart ached as if the needles stuck inside were about to break, and i could feel myself losing the last of my breaths, but the snow was falling and the world was still so prettily dressed.
it wasn't the wind that made me cold, no, it was everything else. the way i felt almost everyone slip away from my life like a slippery cube of ice, those times i had to clench my fists to hold in my cries- and i know very well that we've all had these times yet we still hesitate to whisper this out to the world with a shaky voice and that's always been our first and final choice.
i've taught myself to play piano keys, it keeps away some burdening dreams, and there are moments when i'm listening to a tune i've never heard before, and it feels like seeing a colour i've never seen in years gone, as i slowly slip in a whole new world i have the urgency to explore.
the pine tree is a silver shade, an unsolicited crusade, and i've felt like that for the longest time; a december day turning to a janurary night; a heart of needles that doesn't break without a fight.
-
a/n : I've been having a little hard time with some things and I just wrote this down out of an instance, so it's more raw, less edited and definitely not fictional.
