The shelter was silent from the absenteeism of a yin-yang pilgrimage. Countless patches of fabric with resplendent rips punctuated the floors. The holes used to be sewn closed before the worrying set in. Now the quiet midnight drives pulls paperdolls open at the seams. The distance grows like weed watered with shade and neglect, stubborn and hardy. With enough time, it will force itself into every lazy crevice.
11:38 a.m. - 2017-02-13
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
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Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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