Its the start, the beginning. I write, my fingers move. But where does it lead?
Each new page has a context that you don't see. But my fingers keep leading me
Flowers? What a girly thing am I right? But their delicacies make them beautiful, as my fingers told me. They lead me on.
Moon? Again? Its like the flower thing. But my fingers told me it is me in all the darkness, and you are all the stars.
Its a flower, but this time its full of life. Its moving. My fingers brought me here.
Its the moon. Quite beautiful isnt it? My fingers told me so, they yet lead me on.
Do we end here. My fingers have stopped. They wont lead me fowards, or back. All there is here is dead leaf and a crack, a crack in someones heart. A break.
This time I walked, and I lead my fingers and I lead the here. We end here, in the rain.