the buttercups have died and now all i have to look forward to is a summer of more sleep but more empty promises as well.
if you'd swing by my house and knock ever-so quietly on my window as the stars stretch out in between the clouds, i might just swear my life to you. as if i hadn't already.
YOU ARE READING
the shepherd's sword
Random[the things we dare not say aloud] the walls have faces, you know. the angels do not.
