It is they whom tell me how to paint my pictures, and they whom tell me how to dance, that are the ones I can no longer dance nor paint pictures for. To them I am nothing, and to those with their grace let me be, I am everything.
People will take a preconceived notion and wildly bludgeon a thing of beauty to death with it. Worst of all is the insidious righteousness instilled within the perpetrator of such blind acts that inevitably seep into folk around them like a poison that pushes all things different and strange deeper into the woods.
Not everything that disappears into the woods ever comes back. Yet sometimes they do, and in great num