I search abandoned storefronts just after midnight for childhood nostalgia. I find half-scratched records of sepia fairytales and hastily stuff them in my messenger bag. I cast furtive glances over my shoulder to make sure no one has seen my invaluable find. Later that night, I play old memories on a rusted phonograph in a volume just above a whisper. I fall asleep in a dirty nest of blankets, with my ears gripped loosely in the clutch of old adventures. In a time when khaki-clad men still risked life and limb to tell stories that would endure for generations.
11:28 a.m. - 2017-02-20
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
My profile
Archives
Notes
Diaryland
Random
RSS
others:
As-I-know-it
Nicim
Breathe-Salt
Swordfern
Star-Brite
Swallowthkey
ATwoWayDream
HumHum
Secret-motel
AndWeBreathe
MovingSands
WeAteTheSea