Voices in my head often tell me not to write. Not in those exact words, of course. They tell me to move on. They tell me not to think so much. They tell me to focus on work, on family,…
And the night shall fall short to spell, Another rain on the parched blood soaked in airy blue. To let hopes sulk in deep on concrete black road, Waiting to roll over with words invited to crack skulls open. …
Voices in my head often tell me not to write. Not in those exact words, of course. They tell me to move on. They tell me not to think so much. They tell me to focus on work, on family,…
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been chasing her. Not a woman, really. But something like her.A silhouette in the distance—sharp, confident, impossible to forget.She walks like she knows the answers. Talks in riddles. Smiles rarely but meaningfully.And…