I miss the ground. I miss the feeling of standing with both of my feet steady and soil underneath. I miss not wobeling around everywhere, having no guidelines to follow but my own. I miss me.
It's very easy to fail. Flying is easy, once you've got the hang of it. It's the landing that's the hardest part. Not knowing what you're doing. To loose control for a split second. Control to me is worth to much to give up.
I think I'm going to have to crashland soon.
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Globes. Globes are round. Oval. Shiny. Dull. They shine, they don't shine.
The form of it can be seen and felt as soft, but yet hard.
Fragile. Don't hold too tight. Pieces. Brakes into sharp hurting tiny pieces. So dependent on its light in the darkness. Dimmer. Globe, don't shine too bright. It shows the nakedness of the bright, realistic world. A simple little tiny globe. I want red plank back...
fin text. skrivit själv? du är så duktig på allt, erika : >
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