The thought of coming home to you is tantalisingly strong. I would come home in my grey blazer, soaked to the bone from cold autumnal rain. I'd be grumpy. I'd see your head with your glasses perched on the end of your nose, your mind far away between the comfortable pages of your book. I'd … Continue reading A Memory I Wish I Had
I'm a hoarder of moments, desperate to find gold in paper, Something that I had missed before, like an echoing smile. I walk in my loving, sweet Danse Macabre, My fruitless attempt to make "treasure" worthwhile.