His aura of innocence, but incomprehensible identity is impossible to decipher, and difficult to understand. Yet it is welcoming — discerningly, and I cannot translate it in my feelings. They are half way between the nerves that present themselves by my inability to form sentences, and the churning of my stomach when he taps my shoulder. From the characteristics strung on his stoic face, to his subtle expressions I wonder if it’s inviting to others like it is to a writer’s analytic, and over-active mind. I can feel his laughter as a breath of fresh air, and his smile lights up his smile like the light that peaks through the autumn leaves, yet the image of him is inexistent to my mind than it is to my heart as it pushes away the figure he could be. There are questions, and contemplation; too many of mystery, and little of certainty. There is no clarity, if anything it is clouded, and up in the air. I can’t see what is possible if the sun is covered, and all you do is peak through the leaves as speckled light.
– Emilyn Nguyen, Speckled Light
↠ Emilyn's Journey ↞ 