My all. My time and my voice. Blindness. And the inherent disease of the rare senses. The dots on the chin have collected an armful of the unexpressed forms. The power of Love is in the turmoil and soreness of the current days. Somebody is staying by and believes in the ideals. My body is a crack between fears and passions. Silent breath. Call of the beautiful faces. Solitude.
There are always some traces and strange colors left on a sleepy animal’s body. They are raking up just their memory and do not know any other prayers. We all have arrived in pursuit of rare treasures. We were allowed to swim here just after giving a promise. The theatre is a constant reminder of my promise given. I am sharing colors with myself. And I am bathing in these strange relationships with my Deep Memory.