Lingering in the pale, quiet light of winter’s sun, “This is the place,” you say, “I’ve always wanted.” Not taken, but discovered; not held, but lived. Moving, breathing, being without you, yet there you are.
Lingering in the pale, quiet light of winter’s sun, “This is the place,” you say, “I’ve always wanted.” Not taken, but discovered; not held, but lived. Moving, breathing, being without you, yet there you are.