haunting, kissed, caught in the wee hours of the morning, an odd, weird, disturbing tale of love, tragic love, the steps taken, the boundries reached and crossed, the limits to which love will cross, a face that captivates, enraptures, snares like saplings set in the forest, a broken twig hidding the trigger, green grass, blinding white light, looking upon the center, even as disturbing as it may be, but white light, glorious white light, the wonders of the independent film channel, of the sundance channel, to broaden to explore to place a finger on the chin, and gently lead the eyes in a direction never seen before, and in the center
[about musings] ©1998-2024 [eric abando]