Trembling fingertips against cool, misty glass cause accumulations of fog to run. The drips contort themselves, blossoming into half baked thoughts and wasted space. Draw something that counts. A poor imitation of your name, the letters faded away by the third syllable. Or a clean slate, by which I can now see the dawn slice through the cloud formations over the harbor.
Feb 13, 2020
Feb 13, 2020 at 7:11 AM UTC
Trembling fingertips against cool, misty glass cause accumulations of fog to run. The drips contort themselves, blossoming into half baked thoughts and wasted space. Draw something that counts. A poor imitation of your name, the letters faded away by the third syllable. Or a clean slate, by which I can now see the dawn slice through the cloud formations over the harbor.
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