I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
(via massivegravity)
I’m the right brain. I’m creativity. A free spirit. I’m passion. Yearning. Sensuality. I’m the sound of roaring laughter. I’m taste. The feeling of sand beneath bare feet. I’m movement. Vivid colors. I’m the urge to paint on an empty canvas. I’m boundless imagination. Art. Poetry. I sense, I feel. I’m everything I wanted to be.
