aeonblack6

The sun beats down hard against my pale skin. Weathered and dry, seasonably flushed...I feel true life being breathed into me. The arms of another coasting into my own in remembrance of another time in the same place. Isn't there love to be embraced inside the memory of a face? I drown my anxiety and fear of this all in the fact that once started, some great machines can not be stopped. You may push and pull on all it's gears and mechanisms, but they will not break free of the hold they have. In a way, I think that everyone can find some great opus in some simple thing, and maybe, for me at least, it's in seeing this place again; feeling that old familiar heat, walking over the city built on dust. I can once again smile at the brief, fleeting feeling of freedom and the comfort of the place.