Chosen Yawns
After dawn, I miss the night, I fear the morning dew the coffee fumes the light the lack of sleep the consequences of the new. What have I started here? 4 am is the worst time to make up your mind about what or why or who you’ll wake up in the morning
a Sunday sigh
Sunday morning door closed on the week and in my face, a death of something so inanimate yet touched with my hands and with my mind for ten months, if only it had a year of life, more time more faith more more… as one door shuts, another opens but i’m not ready to be [...]
