My pain belongs to the divine. It is like air. It is like water. It is real as the substance of this world.
Madness string 111912
White birds soar against the bright blue sky, flapping their wings like rippling waves, wavering in shades of bright and shadow, all odd. An illusion of separation, above and below, pushed aside in each flap, each swoop, each interweaving motion of the flock...