The wind writes on water. Her face, halfmoon in The Woods. Her whispers are The Rain. Language of death. The Wind wrote I. The I. Crying over the I. The soul, made by a dead god Of small things. Written on the chinese paper, Letter to God . Her. God is.
This is so touching. And as an artist 🎨 mothers and women have always been my inspiration because I was raised by a single mother.
I was there on Wednesday
The wind writes on water.
Her face, halfmoon in The Woods.
Her whispers are The Rain.
Language of death. The
Wind wrote I.
The I. Crying over the I.
The soul, made by a dead god
Of small things.
Written on the chinese paper,
Letter to God .
Her.
God is.