touché par un ange
She always thought, Angels were made in Heaven. Just more proof for a francophile,there is a little bit of Heaven in Provence.What are they made of, the angels?Were these Deva's lying dormant, waitingfor their creator to reach a spiritual consciousness?Are these the hands that sculpt the paper, void of words,into emotion? At the core is fragility, yet strength It is disturbing for her to think