LINES

LINES

Still awake in the night.
The rhythm of its silence, creates a melody in a distance.

My heart is full of nostalgic nocturne.

Lines begin to crawl, then run through my head.
With their reasons in every purpose.

Fine lines.
Short lines.
Long lines.
Dark lines.
Firm lines.

I wonder, if my pencil wouldn't be tired dancing along with my fingertips.
Every night, on the spotlight of the scaled four sided trace.
Gracefully moving around, and round.
In lines, end lines.

Just to create LINES.