I don't smile at them often. But sometimes I must. And sometimes I must acknowledge how I envy the dainty cycle of seasons, the back and forth to grey clouds, to red headed migratory birds calling at my window even when the curtains are drawn. //caption// Board Games. Now that my street remains unswept, the dead-crisp-withered-fallen leaves, with all their scorched elegance, sweep over the dying spring with their autumn. Like it's a dim ending of the honey-sun and not a surge of the silver hued gold in the sun-gleam. These are tall and upright trees, with a certain attraction that differs in the eloquence that the crooked will to divert from a known way, has to offer. I don't smile at them often. But sometimes I must. And sometimes I must acknowledge how I envy the dainty cycle of seasons, the back and forth to grey clouds, to red headed migratory birds calling at my window even when the curtains are drawn. It took me more than a couple of years, a few loose strands of hair caressed from my cheeks, a gentle kiss on my knuckles to know love is a long journey. But once I knew that, it was easier. I like to take my time while I let you taste the purple berries, too sour, at the corner of my mouth. I like to take time with letting you find out how I want to be held so that the apologies we've lettered can be carved on my skin by the time morning comes. I am not made up of pieces of the jigsaw you can put together easily. But trust me, if you can fit pieces where they aren't cut out for, and still finish with a picture before you that makes you adore it, I'll comply with your idea of completeness.
