The unknowns are pieces of what could be..Of ..We listen to the voices that still talk in between all rhythms that play harmonies, that we thought about..And think..And see..And remember..
The thoughts are coming in flows un-anticipated..As naturally as in dreams undreamed yet..As in phrases unexpressed..As in voices that never sayed yet something..
We still see each other..If you think, than you really are a part of what we stiil are..We all..In a sense of the whole assembly..
A thing is what was, in pieces, part of an imaginative world, as part of our innerselves..A part untold yet to others..
You see me as I see you..With imagination..Being with limits brought by some..Limits that limit as if you are surrounded by mirrors of all's watches..As if you are captured by they're ways of thinking..
In between us is only a world that understands whatever it can..Limited by..
I am me myself, to be ever myself..As if singing alone my own harmonies..In a way..
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