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Words like birds, fly and try to make sense of these surroundings without rebounding on strange sounding thoughts and sandlots of porcelain pots. Unsteady and not ready, but I'm attempting--it's not too tempting--to create, not deflate. But it's harder to succeed than not lead you gentle viewers into drab sewers. But these lips do smile without guile, for yet another mile, because to hear praise cannot raise anything but elation, celebration. There's no degradation in such happy minds, happy finds. ^_^
i.e. I thought I sucked, but thank you! You guys rock.
~Echo.-Noct.
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