Baby, she would have cooed to me, Baby, one day we'll make it. Her hair like leaves on a golden willow, batting at her eyes. Fussing with it in fits of adorability. Raising the bar, lowering my spirits. Raising my chin with her fingertips, lowering my eyes. Look, Look. Her lips pucker and her eyes flash. A thousand flimsy adjectives flash
(
Read more... )