A gentle breeze strokes my face on a warm summer evening, reminding me at once of a memory and the flick of your hair tied with white satin lace, It was as real as if I had been touched gently by a ghost, sending a shiver through my soul by the presence of a loving host, time changing as I step through the Bermuda Triangle, I am once again ambling slowly, there are children laughing at my fragility, for I am old and still very much alone.
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Glance at the phone, contacting no-one, letters unopened, see bygones be gone, lie in a darkened room, while not wanting to venture outsid...
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Clean light does not shine here anymore magnolia walls have become dirty to the floor grey linoleum floors sticky past directional tape the... -
The Oregon trail in west Texas, west. the host is the land, growing trees abreast It bears the name wild.. the wild Wild West always; will ...
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