The imagination of my thought has taken me to a place so fair. I did not acquire a ticket nor did I leave a place, only yet one moment to another. I think from time to time if a place or a dream such as foreign or forgotten is still there. Yet my brain is always consumed about the stillness of my actions. I dream heavy for the day my eyes can find me in a foreign place. I could dislocate myself from the world that knows me. Take a photograph and send it home as a postcard. I would write in my best handwriting all the details that could fit and end it with the same fashion I end any message, “With that said I hope this finds you well and with a smile.”
I've always envied people who could read eyes. They say, the eye is the window to the soul. And your emotions, your motives, your deepest hopes and dreams you've always wanted to keep hidden, they're like that girl who always strips all the way down when she's changing. And she always makes a show of it right in front of the window. She pretends that she just doesn't notice the blinds wide open right in front of her, but it's that paper-thin attempt at keeping up an appearance of innocence that makes the whole thing that much sexier..Love & Hugs~Richard
