sometimes i lay awake thinking of what you must have seen in your lifetime. not knowing anything about where you came from hurts my soul. your kind eyes and scars make me love you so. i wish you could use words to tell me about it all.. for now i will read what i can in your eyes and in the majestic way you carry yourself my dear, dear tolstoy.
i moved where my heart had drifted off to long before. i live on a hill of hundred acres, where my dreams have merged with the view. it is quiet from machine noises yet loud with sounds of horses, dogs, cats chickens and ducks. nature is the true artist in resident and i am just her apprentice who often gets lost in her gaze. once and a while i travel back to cities and foreign places to put into photographs what i have learned, yet always, part of my heart is left on the hill..
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