Finding Peace
The pricks are nothing to me They sting, sure, every now and then But it is their smell that makes me come for more I love it, and need it as much as the air I breathe The pricks are nothing to me They draw blood, I know But it's their softness that I remember … Continue reading Pricks
A single covered lamp lit up the room from a corner just a little too far away to make the atmosphere welcoming; the light barely made it through the large, thick shelves, loaded with books fading to blurry memory as soon as I’d glanced at the titles, past the brick-a-brack of family artifacts layered on … Continue reading A Simple Diagnosis
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