There is an emptiness growing in the night. It’s the sadness of instant nostalgia. Or maybe that’s the wine. The storm just ended and already, I miss the sound of the raindrops. Life is so fleeting. Yet, this persistent passing of time lends beauty its value. Thankfully, nothing lasts.
Mama, There’s A White Man At My Window!
Zaron Burnett III
593
So very finely crafted throughout, and this passage… superb!