SquareHeart

What we convey through words and pictures is never what it really is. always the same. always different. always a cliche. like a bagpipe exploding with droning sound. encompassing all the colors, while sucking wind in and out. we make noise because that is what we are built to do. if we hold it in, eventually we burst. sometimes in freedom. sometimes it leaves an ache that never goes away. sure of selfish impulse, we come in only to pull away. perhaps you saving it for a rainy day. or, for just in case you decide to stay. either way, it all works out inside the turn encapsuled within dawn to dusk. we wake we sleep we see we play we change. . .