"canta, canta, canta corazon"
better than nepenthe, it helped her remember feelings of home. and within this there was never mania. there was no rush to be anywhere, to do anything, or to be anyone; it was a feeling of a moment that extended with gentleness and simply brought the hues closer. more natural than her skin, it was a feeling that equaled her in one. an accumulation, like a ball of yarn whose drawn all its thread together, that round yet concrete feeling of a peaceful awakening. it grew with a soft strength, weaving her legs into roots, holding her eyes from falling over and synthesizing her tremor into a serenade.
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