in the mess of blankets and duvets and sheets on my bed i search for your hand.
(it is not there).
YOU ARE READING
the coldness inside
Randomsometimes, when the night is cold, the moon is sad, and the wind sings its hollow tune, i think of you. a book of lonely thoughts.
ten
in the mess of blankets and duvets and sheets on my bed i search for your hand.
(it is not there).
