The songs that once flowed free in the breeze were melancholy but beautiful. Today the stains are too loud, the breeze as silence as ever. Push them away, the myriad questions that rise, the what ifs and the what nots.
The sights of the unsaid, the sounds of the unseen.
Listen to the tunes again, and search for the same strains of strings.
Maybe..
just maybe..
.
The sights of the unsaid, the sounds of the unseen.
Listen to the tunes again, and search for the same strains of strings.
Maybe..
just maybe..
.
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