There is so much. All this space, this space inside. Unfocused outlines. Visual thoughts that haunting keeping me here. And there.
An orange doric column. A wool dress. Black mane thick standing straight the sidewalk smiling a beauty admired and despised. The concave slope of dense shoulders persisting tforward.
-- le 7, 9 24 avril 2010
Showing posts with label synesthesia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label synesthesia. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
me here And there
Labels:
autobiography,
family,
grief,
identity,
language,
loss,
love,
memory,
mother,
mourning,
place,
sense memory,
synesthesia
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