i find myself perpetually patronizing the pieces of my life… those pieces that i am not interested in keeping, but have been slotted in my path for color, i suppose. and then it rains… before or after i miss the sun that i know is promised to me. how lonely is a star? so far from other vibrant orbs, so surrounded by big rocks…that are so comparably small, but eat so much light. but if i can still hear my voice, then the mood of my scenes are bound to my themes… and my music always moves me.