Retermined

rosy panes and selfless strains memoirs begotten reign again rush the horses of every eve and bring forth sweet memories for in these halls lay the truth of boundless creativity that stretches above the chandeliers and seeps into the rugs and floor. lengthy spiderwebs it makes on its journey down the way and thus it falls into this hole of which an Alice had made. and dreams are built upon this, the lives of those not of waste who dedicate and move the people of our race. and to these dreamers we do say that their efforts, hopes, and love mold this world into a better place. artists, what more can we say?

Six of us. We're so close together, yet divided by invisible walls. We hear each other's words, but none of us open our mouths. We feel for each other and comfort without physical touch. We fight and fix in such fast speeds that outsiders view us as close and easily forgiving. We're the main entertainment. The spotlight is placed on each move. One false step, and a mess is made we have to clean up. People talk to us, and we talk back, but the walls between them and us are much more thicker. They haven't built up that kind of strength. Even though I feel close to them, though, I can't help but feel like the oddball out. I have my days where