Jan 9
In the silent chambers of solitude, echoes of abandoned whispers linger, weaving a tapestry of loneliness that envelops my soul.
Shadows of unspoken words dance with the emptiness, as my heart grapples with the haunting absence of deep emotive connection.
My abandoned heart has becomes a poet of its own sorrow, scripting verses of isolation across the parchment of my crumbling existence.
Shadows of unspoken words dance with the emptiness, as my heart grapples with the haunting absence of deep emotive connection.
My abandoned heart has becomes a poet of its own sorrow, scripting verses of isolation across the parchment of my crumbling existence.
My smiling, communicative mask is cracking. What must I do to feel loved, included. Who am I ? At 71 it’s too late to discover
