she was alone today, again.
i walked to her and she looked at me,
with those freezing blue eyes.
and perhaps that's why i've ever loved winter.
because of her.
YOU ARE READING
insomnia.
Random«her name was insomnia, and she was the greatest metaphor a poet has ever written.»
t h i r t e e n.
she was alone today, again.
i walked to her and she looked at me,
with those freezing blue eyes.
and perhaps that's why i've ever loved winter.
because of her.