What is it to hold memories? What is it we feel when stepping silently among the graves of people who once felt what we feel, who once loved as we love?
As the light half of the year is nearly gone, I seek the spirit of truth among the trees. I seek the enlightenment, the means to remember the calling that stitches itself to the strands of my DNA.
The need for flight and otherwordly observation is budding within a body which longs for transcendence, longs for a memory of where she’s been.
Mysteries are buried in the stone, and it’s a difficult thing, ignoring the fluttering of thoughts jumbled together within a mind trying for solitude. The dead offer peace, tranquil cerulean dreams. I seek within the shades of the earth, and find myself attached to this meaning.
The meaning between Life and Death and everything woven within.