30.3.09

G#

A heart of technicolour by the sound of a voice full of consequences. The writing of this organ makes no sense perhaps [not that it needs one] yet we acknowledge. A plant by the window awaiting my arrival to tell me that she has just dreamt of you. There might not be red or purple tulips in her dreams, but she never doubts of the fair purity of the images. I do not doubt the one of mine. She will make a big fuss about when you are coming back to take the slightest peek at her. I will laugh inasmuch as I know how it feels. She will laugh to comfort me about my wishing to spend the night with you. She will stare at the moon while I upload some music for you. We will say, 'good night!' & wish each other dreams of you. I will go to bed carrying a smile.
I counted the tulips in my heart.There are more than the last time, each one of them being 'you.'

& the tin man said, "I don't wanna hear your voice..."

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