Slowy
Sweet Mary1873 was the year. The year of my 16th birthday. I remember that day quite well. It was a clear day, like blue glass pressed against the sky. There were a few wispy diamond-white clouds floating lazily overhead, too. It was a warm summer’s day; July the 5th, 1873.Sweet Mary
Happy Birthday to me, happy birthday to me.
I sung this to myself as I lay in my deathbed. I referred to it as that, Mamma didn’t like it though. But I knew I was going to die soon. Hadn’t I been sick with typhoid for some time now? I remember that day as well. The sky didn’t look as see-through as it did today, I recalled as I stared ou
Anna
I've Been Hit 6 Thousand Times
Tired
Thanks, Dave.
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~ Lady Aelfeth
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somewhere over the rainbow...
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what a conundrum this turned out to be.
What are your plans now? Take some time off or pursuing art or another direction?
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"The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work."
~ Emile Zola
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And then one day you find ten years have got behind you. No one told you when to run. You missed the starting gun.
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"The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work."
~ Emile Zola
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l'audace, l'audace, toujours l'audace!
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