Sun kissing (down) on my face; the feeling of it feeding my soul through my skin; the feeling of drinking warm draughts of goodness in exchange for nothing but my full attention. - Whatever's not indigenous to my mind or strung into the bloody sinews of my heart is lost to me before or after I have it in my hands. Holding on or reaching out is nothing. Only what was mine from the beginning is mine still. from 'Inside' in Its Inside-Out & Orange
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Archives
July 2020
Fiction is the lie that tells the truth ... (Neil Gaiman) Categories |