not all those who wander are lost

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Isabelle, 21, sydney.

all that is gold does not glitter
this is the home of all my truth. this is my secret keeper. this is the garden of my soul and the beauty of my life. this is my home forever.

spring is like a perhaps hand
(which comes carefully
out of Nowhere)arranging
a window,into which people look(while
people stare
arranging and changing placing
carefully there a strange
thing and a known thing here)and
changing everything carefully
spring is like a perhaps
Hand in a window
(carefully to
and fro moving New and
Old things,while
people stare carefully
moving a perhaps
fraction of flower here placing
an inch of air there)and
without breaking anything