Fetish Hands
Nov 3 · 2 min read

My dear Sophie,
If I could write you letters Sophie. I would. All my years. That is all that I would. Do.
But my tears are always half-way now. And my glass of wine is always empty.
I return to the same rooms of high structures with one window lit up at 3am. It is always the same window. It is always 3am. And it is always me with my fake suit and my high heels crashed and sinking into the…
