I drift.
I search.
Hold.
Care.
A taste of singe.
A texture of cotton that dries the mouth but somehow falls apart something of a Jenga pull…
The words always seemed to bring her calm.
We were burning and suffering as our skin went raw. The sensation excruciating, we came to and fro consciousness, the pain unbearable. The heat…
We watched as the sun began to set. The waves of light reflecting over the clouds casting a shadow off the rock, impeding our view. Its slow…
Looking down at the empty canvas, I see all but white. My mind vividly imprints the sketch I wish to create. Every line. Curve…
Am I the only one that loves killing off characters?