| this bez my gallery!sub> |


A Lack of Colorpigtail brown braids gently sweep the carpet. she lies quite silently on the side of her bed, facing upside down. fiddling with her striped socks, pulling them above her knees. they fall around her scrawny legs.A Lack of Color
dizzy glaring at the record spinning continuously. it is all a black and white blur. the slender needle skims the disk. she traces the pattern in her comforter with her bony fingers.
the sky is a melancholy blue, much like that of the distant ocean. fluffy white clouds and dimming sun. faded green grass covered in frost. light illuminates her space, fading
| this bez my gallery!sub> |
| "Many old folktales portray Death as a cloaked figure who knocks on the doors of the souls he has come to whisk away, but that is not always the way of the world. Sometimes Death may approach the door very slowly and very loudly, so that by the time he knocks everyone in the neighborhood is aware of his approach, or he may prefer to pick the lock of the back door and sit up all night in your kitchen until you stroll downstairs in your bathrobe and learn that he has been waiting for you, sitting in your favorite chair and rearranging your silverware when he got bored" -Lemony Snicket "Horserasish" |
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Music is a science of love relating to harmony and rhythm/Plato
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[link] come see my gallery!
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plz visit my Gallery...I would like to hear from you
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[link] come see my gallery!
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plz visit my Gallery...I would like to hear from you
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