Inbetween our words and thoughts the world of objects thrives. A curious place where feelings flow and each thing speaks in an intimate way. As they peek out, the objects see the world of we and they tug and hug and snuggle in, hoping to catch our eye. We never notice - we’re making our plans. So eventually what we can’t see becomes a secret, at least to us; but it shouldn’t be - these objects give themselves away to us continually. And who can be sure which which is who and who is really which? Maybe the objects are dreaming us, feeling us out from the outside in. Is it love or lust - who can say? Certainly not the objects, they are merely reaching out to us because they must.Inbetween our words and thoughts the world of objects thrives. A curious place where feelings flow and each thing speaks in an intimate way....all »Inbetween our words and thoughts the world of objects thrives. A curious place where feelings flow and each thing speaks in an intimate way. As they peek out, the objects see the world of we and they tug and hug and snuggle in, hoping to catch our eye. We never notice - we’re making our plans. So eventually what we can’t see becomes a secret, at least to us; but it shouldn’t be - these objects give themselves away to us continually. And who can be sure which which is who and who is really which? Maybe the objects are dreaming us, feeling us out from the outside in. Is it love or lust - who can say? Certainly not the objects, they are merely reaching out to us because they must.«
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