(Untitled)

[etherealhammer]

White like fluttering bones, star-dressed wings crossed the garden- moving like a mist of small apparitions of moonlight. I was on a bench, next to me was a notebook. Bent pages, scribbles, ripped: strange are the frames of beauty. A small heart beating in the ink.

Comments

[nines]

Thank you

[etherealhammer]

I had no choice, but thank you as well.