I will bring you dear Nicolo with me when I return to the city. I will wake you up from somber and finish your dirty surface back to its shining glory. Sorry if I abandoned you. You didn’t know how the years that passed lingered in my mind with you mesmerizing me, of your sorrowful music, of your nostalgic cries. You were there for all those days that I wept for bitterness. I am away when you want me to play your golden strings.
I will bring you back dear Nicolo. You will play both in my heart and mind.
Writing is Hard to Love (Confessions of a Composition Junkie) - Philbert Dy’s tweet made me think a bit. See, there’s something about “loving writing.” Ten years ago, I’d probably say that Mr. Dy is right. After all, I ...
6 months ago