The balcony was the breath of the house, it's expanding lungs meeting the day in all weathers.
In the mornings, in the golden rays of each new day, my heart was a new page and my soul laced up its boots.
Upon the balcony my soul is ever Juliet, so if you want to stand here with me, let your soul ever be Romeo.
The balcony was by far my favourite part of our apartment. It was a place to let romance into the soul as the world passed by on the city street.
The balcony peaked upon the dawn-lit street with it's two shuttered blue eyes, as if it were a waking lady seeing through long eyelashes.
The balcony grew from the walls of the house as generous arms from a host, or perhaps those of a mother to cradle her infant child. The metal had a patina of ocean greens and blues, or perhaps it was more the hues of a mossy forest floor in softened early light, yet either way it was beautiful.
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