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The Diary of a Late Bloomer (153)

Be poetic. If you find the way the light falls through your window and onto your bedroom wall pretty, write about it. Call it soft and golden as sunlight honey, if it makes you glad to be alive then it is not silly, you look for the beauty of things, be proud of that, say the heavy rain is kissing you. Write about the glow of the moon, the dancing of flowers, make your world magical. Collect your metaphor and treasure them.” @mocha.bug / @artidote

An ornament of salute

She collects her soul by peeking outside, skies from the window are empty. Not even a dot, hanging there to be a trapping. Even so, in her eyes, it is just skies being its usual self. Stubborn in its solitary. It doesn’t look lonely, it echoes mental toughness. She wished the dots were there at least to admire the skies, to become an ornament of salute. “Dear skies, you come along with holy echoes. It’s okay, they weren’t there. You have me, staring, mesmerizing. Oh, I think I see something sparkling?” And she knows, a subject that carries other souls, as it is steadily flying forth and at last landing, “They are probably admiring from different angle.”


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