I want to be the balloon that sparkles like amethyst, enjoying the sunlight - but that's me instead: the discarded carrier bag, whose destiny is decided by each random gust of wind.
You aren't the discarded carrier bag, you are the sun shining through trees. You are the warmth that makes flowers open, a song on the whispering breeze.(c) @carolannda
You aren't the discarded carrier bag,
ReplyDeleteyou are the sun shining through trees.
You are the warmth that makes flowers open,
a song on the whispering breeze.(c)
@carolannda