“It’s dark. You exhale a fist of memory. I love you like weathering wood in a room of empty pianos. When you return to something you love, it’s already beyond repair. You wear it broken.” — James L. White Copy Share Image
“It’s dark. You exhale a fist of memory. I love you like weathering wood in a room of empty pianos. When you return to… — James L. White Copy Share Image
