The quiet hues of late morning joy. Nostalgia sparkling through old speakers. Handmade bindings and unmade scribbles packaged in hopeful uncertainty. The gratitude of routine adjacency. Cold afternoons stitched into aged sinew. Letters from strangers we once knew very well. An evening swallowed by Greek deities and mind grind. A slice of lovely existence, twinkling along from the edges of rooftops to mottled sky.
2:02 p.m. - 2022-12-29
Recent entries:
Creating Coal - 2023-01-12
It Could Be Called 'Unfortunate' - 2023-01-12
Twenty-twenty Ambivalence - 2023-01-05
Without Lights - 2023-01-05
Panning for Time - 2022-12-29
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