A drizzle of not-fireflies above the walls of an empty school. Whizzing about in the slicing beams of a fading afternoon. Hands tattooed with fine grit and callouses. Hundreds of half-rounded stones embedded as architecture. Hand-over-hand, without anyone understanding how, they become a stairway to the afterlife.
11:38 p.m. - 2020-06-17
Recent entries:
Thanking the Pandemonium - 2020-11-26
Simplicity of Sometimes - 2020-11-25
Bubblebeams - 2020-11-18
Red Blue Green Purple - 2020-11-11
Too Young to Descend - 2020-11-11
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