I don't know what I am looking for. I don't even know that
I am looking.
But my steps pause when I reach your tree. A wisp reaches out and curls around my wrist.
Its ethereal gossamer touch chains me. The decision is out
of my hands. I begin to pour my soul into my ink for all the world to
see.....but your wisp....it still remains a mystery!
I am drawn to explore the intimate worlds of souls. It
implores me to listen to your soundless music. It forces me to make words for
your wordless poetry.
MS
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