| lonely_without | ||
| squint |
the birds they made hushed lullabys in the rustling of their feathers and squeeks that might fit within the definition of coo and what I would want is just to be within the down when they fluff and yawn and by dawn they were untouchable and the still was vivacious if anything wings outstretched greeting the sun tips of blue spoke out against the aria, the intense green. and maybe they don't fly but they used to sing, when I knew them. I have nothing untouchable and I miss those birds just being there. lonely. summer and kame'a as if you could spell that ridiculous name that doesn't really exist. |
020804 |