Her monochrome thoughts are often infused with grieving tears of solitude. That forever shall be never again. Having come to terms with that, and made peace with the inner recesses that tear her minute self, she gives in to pleasures. Of company and love. But then, the shadows creep in, like the faint light of moonlight that refuses to leave that tiny crevice of your window. Did I just compare darkness to light? The closer she thinks she is to peace, the farther she is.
She tiptoes to the farthest corner of reconciliation, her feet barely intrusive, her presence largely ignored. She's often caught tiptoeing, especially, when in chaos. She tiptoes to love, and away from it. To pleasure, and to restraint. She's such a baby, she tiptoes to peace, and runs away from it too. "Oh what do we do about a problem like Maria".
P. S. Sorry, have been M.I.A for far too long. Weird-ness has been happening in life.
How is everyone in blogosphere doin'?
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