The sound of the other shoe dropping never comes. Years of dodging accusations has left me brittle and husked. The blinking numbers tick interminably. I try to refrain from glancing at them. It never helps.
People, places, ideas-- they all fall apart as fast as they can be built together. The world is made of cherry blossoms and maple leaves. Strewn on back roads and obscuring the sun. This world needs a nice, clean, natural disaster.
12:21 p.m. - 2016-09-26
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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