March
Monday 24 March 2008 photo 3/6
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I’ve always though that snow is feathers, plucked from the wings of an angel. Will she fall down to the earth now? What will happen to that pure, innocent angel? Maybe she lost her wings because of that. The fact that she’s not that innocent. I don’t know, but If the snow that’s falling down on me is the wings from a fallen angel, them I’ll try to catch her. I’ll hide her body in the snow. And no one will ever know that there was a dead angel, lying in my frozen garden. No one will ever try to find her. And when the sun has melted all the snow, and the water has turned into steam, no one but me will know that she existed
I’ve always though that snow is feathers, plucked from the wings of an angel. Will she fall down to the earth now? What will happen to that pure, innocent angel? Maybe she lost her wings because of that. The fact that she’s not that innocent. I don’t know, but If the snow that’s falling down on me is the wings from a fallen angel, them I’ll try to catch her. I’ll hide her body in the snow. And no one will ever know that there was a dead angel, lying in my frozen garden. No one will ever try to find her. And when the sun has melted all the snow, and the water has turned into steam, no one but me will know that she existed
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