I remember the day Dean and I found this gem. A ninety-two-year-old farmhouse out of a fairytale novel, me round with Sarah soon to make us three. We signed, moved in, and soon enough these old
I ponder, ponder, one step short of full-on obsession. Mulling over the world I grew up in and how suddenly and without fanfare, it ceased to exist. So unexpected and lightning-quick its flame burnt
I’ll be your California,You’ll be my CarolinaThe sun will rise and set with usThe moon will string a banded chorusof poetic writers across the globeSharing words and spreading
“Do you still think of her?” Alyson’s words were soft, their tender touch relaxing to Robert. He continued to fidget, his fingers juggling the same emptiness that had filled his thoughts.
I am not sick,But I am not wellI’m trapped in my bodyA prison that’s HellIt’s fighting against meA battle each dayIt just wants to end meBut I won’t go awayThe pain unlike