Nov 2017
November 10.
The cold bites me. The setting sun kisses me.
I read your letter aloud and did not let myself cry.
Quiet. Today is quiet.
*— L, from the journal “Winter And Its Waking Breath”
The cold bites me. The setting sun kisses me.
I read your letter aloud and did not let myself cry.
Quiet. Today is quiet.
*— L, from the journal “Winter And Its Waking Breath”
I have a blog where I post excerpts from books.
These books do not exist.
The titles, content and year the books were published are part of the piece itself.
The link to the blog is in my description.
These books do not exist.
The titles, content and year the books were published are part of the piece itself.
The link to the blog is in my description.
