Pictorial Prose

Pictorial Prose
Indulging my most lucid daydreams

Monday, February 25, 2008

It's not the place or the hour of the day, the only thing that mattered is what the heart had to say. Sing it from the heavens, dance star to star, whispers of love lit the hills a spark. Felt it the first day, felt it in my soul, I knew I was free and your hand I'd hold.

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