You write with such precision. You bemoan your broken quill. You complain of love’s condition. You would have the world stand still. The more you force contentment, as would appear your goal, the more you’ll […]
You write with such precision. You bemoan your broken quill. You complain of love’s condition. You would have the world stand still. The more you force contentment, as would appear your goal, the more you’ll […]
