Love
Love's like the creeking sound from the basement, of an old house in the woods, when you're alone.You still walk down the stairs, aware that chances are you will end up terrified, in a white shirt at a hospital, broken or even dead, but you risk everything for the chance to prove to yourself that you might find something eternal and in hopes you can belong to it.
Poetry by zana
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Written on 2014-07-26 at 21:29
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by zana Latest textsBecoming humanSerenity is not my home Untied Fortitude One too many |
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