Your uncle shot himself in the face because of a dead bird. Your uncle found it in his back yard while raking. Being gifted at abstraction and prone to recursion, his mind ran hot and the little yellow bird became every little yellow bird that ever lay dead underneath a pile of leaves. He stood over it with tears in his eyes because time was
(
Read more... )
Comments 12
Beautiful. Thank you.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
gorgeous, as always.
Reply
Leave a comment