Nothing Else.
The bell tolls, and I am caught in the grip of this process, this never-ending story, this ending-yet-to-be-written, this challenge-against-the-status-quo, this push-for-meaning, this attempt-to-resolve, or be-resolved, this craving-resolute, this yearning to de-habitualize. Pain pulses on...
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Posted on October 14th, 2009 by Arabella Truth
Thinking of you in the folds of darkened night sky and passing clouds.
THERE IS A MALA WOVEN BETWEEN OUR LIPS.
Sometimes, I wish I could fly past the void that plays such tricks, and just stretch out next to you, counting the beads as starlit constellations.
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