There lives an artist, I think, that if we ever should meet, I would assume she walks down extraordinary streets, painted with vivid brush strokes and cobbled stone streets, traversed day and night by hard-bottom feet. The exterior expression of a beautiful soul, found in emotionally weighty subjects fantastically told. Her body wrapped exquisitely in poetry and prose. Each walk. Each step. Each eye-smile a pose.
“Hello, nice to meet you.”
There lives an artist, I think, that if we ever should meet, I would watch her waltz down winding streets, while strolling beside many intertwining feet, sitting under umbrellas held by laced gloves, covering park benches draped with couples in love. The words dance to whimsical notions and witty expressions, accompanied by profound insights and alliterations. Her thoughts all penned by keystrokes and backspaces, all interwoven with rich characters and as such life lessons, that dance themselves about the hem of her dresses, secured in place by pins to spare from coiffed hair tresses.
“And may I add that it is my honor to make your acquaintance.”
While it doesn’t take much to hear the melody of a violin, sometimes it takes a guide to point out the color of the flute floating in.