To paint is to write
a letter of longing.
And, as the words don’t
live inside, colors are
on the outside.
But when will the paints,
colors, and pains, make
way for freedom?
To paint is to write
a letter of longing.
And, as the words don’t
live inside, colors are
on the outside.
But when will the paints,
colors, and pains, make
way for freedom?
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