I look and look, the face is looking back, observing me. Or is it a face? Like in the theater, the figures show up gently, and then, their shape dissolves, melting in to the pattern.

It's all dark. The building, the streets, the world. Like a sky full of stars, the skyscrapers keep me safe.

From button to button she hopped, climbing up the long, wavy ladder. Very carefully, not to fall. Only a dot within a drawing, looking to find its spot.

All parts make a whole, lines make a painting. In this world you see before you, lives an invention. Use your immagination to figure it out.

It's a child's play, he can be anything he wishes, just wish upon a moon.

In the majestic world of Alice, there was a place where birds and flowers formed hearts with no colors.

They have their own conversation, I could never tell, Never understand. It is like a conversation from a different world. Many dialects.

As fabric, the lines are curving, forming into a face. Different figures might reveal themselves if you will look closer.

He traveled far and away, waiting to see and experience the world. Is it a dream, or a weird reality? Does he need to wake up, or keep going?