"The best part about a picture is that it never changes, even when the people in it do."- Andy Warhol

It happens in her head

That's where she goes to find the subtle answer to the riddle. It doesn't render fully... She's grabbing tightly to your every word, trying hard to understand as you try to speak. She feels you, she looks ahead, trying to find you, trying closely to see you, she reaches out to touch you just to feel cold glass against her fingertips. Life is the riddle. She loses touch, she gives up on you, and she's as good as dead.

You're dead, useless... I now must escape far from this world, and build my own. I will interpret what my reality is, and stay there forever. What's real, whats not is not fixed for some thing to decide. The world is not black nor white. I am not good, nor evil. It's now my own. I desire to invent my own purpose. I desire to chase it. I desire to fulfill a dream or to live in a dream.

 

I die, and everything goes blank. I do not want to die, knowing I had not lived.


 -

her body was free

 

I'm living life on the fast lane. The sun is up early. My eyes are barely open and I can hardly see. Everything is a blur, but I have to go. I have to go now, because the world will not slow it's pace just for me. I can't see, how can I make sense of things? How can I take on a world that's bigger and more alive than me, blind?

I intend to make peace with my body and soul. I am wild at heart. I can run with the world.