Nostalgia enters the breath, its smell, its long arms of comfort… they stretch beyond those early years to blush across my skin, into my soft centre, and coil silken tendrils at the nape of my neck.
Journal of Consciousness, Literature, and Art
Nostalgia enters the breath, its smell, its long arms of comfort… they stretch beyond those early years to blush across my skin, into my soft centre, and coil silken tendrils at the nape of my neck.