31 July 2012
I write these pages, confined by boarded covers which hold all I have in forms of words from thoughts. Lost in translation but speak the language of love that is all I know, hear and seek as if they were music notes bound by sheets. To be spoken from your lips to be heard in whispers beyond the seams. That is all I see, they are the only lines I know when all will be sonnets a love will last endless above ranges and summits.
Dear You • Opuss № I