(Untitled)

[killtheking_]

I sleep in my bed and hear, faintly, a moan of the wind ripping the trees and whispering of Mozart and Bach. In the living room, my mother takes out the antique violin, it is made of wood, old wood, and yet it glows with ethereal beauty. She places the insturment underneath her chin and plays, spinning melodies, cascading around the room,

Comments

[habit]

Such beatiful imagery <3

[electric_seam]

i came by to say i have not forgotten about your journal, or something of the sort. i, like most, am a horrible commentor (er?). i still read, and love.