Some sleeping willows, in some place with no time, have stopped asking questions to the deep and silent night. And now, instead, they roam and in they wanderings they ponder and reckon...Now, they collect and feed on the dreams left behind by some oblivious passer by. So when the tints of blue begin to fall and filter through the stars and when the murky mist begins to rise, these sleeping willows covered in silver and white, they come to my window to whisper me lullabies...

Thursday, 25 June 2009

Dear Vincent,

There is a hole in the wall and I have not been able to fill it up and the winter will soon be here and the snow will come and I fear, for the house will most certainly flood.
Dear Vincent, I've been away and I do not know now for how long I'll stay and even though I would like to, I wouldn't dare to say.
There is a broken window pane and the floor is rotten and the ghost that used to lurk the attic has abandoned us for good.
There's still a garden but the flowers are dead and I'm afraid I will not see them blossom again.
Dear Vincent won't you come? Come to visit before the fall.

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