He feels like green-laden fields bathed in sticky summer. I shower in that joy daily.
I wish time would slow down. Maybe then I’d be so overflowing that I could sustain myself on the mere memory of what this feels like
swells of change
Perched at the crow's nest I welcome the brewing gale ideal conditions for a feminine travail
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In the laundry bin, making home next to my socks and underwear, I found a little tube of glossier blush, two square neon magnets, and a spec...
