Reflective Essays and Poetic Musings by Condemiang + Stories About the World

A resting place where my soul may sit or lie Where a gentle shadow lays its steady trace Day or night A story I can lean on and listen always One who holds within Like brushing leaves from a bench Even if it be but the lightest burden of passing time I long to run to you to lift it away O Thee

She looked at me and—wove and offered a smile. Like a snow-white angel. ...I was poor, and all I had were dreams, So I laid my dreams beneath your feet. -W.B. Yeats-

She came to me. And at that moment, she became the only being that bore color in that place.