(Untitled)

[deck_magnolia]

I can only concentrate on his three callused fingers. If our eyes meet, I’ll be defeated. I’ll give in. His fingers are worn from his fountain pen, mine from mine. The more they constrict, the more I relax - my muscles, not my guard. I remember a time when we read “Tulips” to each other, and he riveted me at the pillbox

Comments

baaa. baa... dooddooo.. what?

[beeloo]

more! more!

((write more))
i keep waiting for a new post!