You are the book, I read every day. Some times flipping through I read your moves and gestures. Some times rereads allow me to dive and decipher. Not everybody carries the ability to see all the bands emitting out of a prism named body.
Not every body carries the capability to read the prints provided by ever chirping senses. May I react or gaze through to store, depends upon my strategic core. Just one thing for you to know, I stack every book in the memory of my library.
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In life, you fall, shake it off, and get up, provided you don't fall from an airplane without a parachute.
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“Moon light set moonlight rise in then morning the bird chirping tells a sweet lullaby as the sun tells it all”
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Ask the class who is Kim Kardashian and everybody will be able to answer but ask the class who is Amber Hagerman and the chirp of crickets is the only sound we will ever be able to hear.
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It is a rush taking the art as far as you can. Like steering a motorcycle toward a hairpin turn wondering if it will grow wings and fly.
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