If I could write out my own dream, for the next time that I sleep, you’d be the first one that I see, and I the last one that you keep. The dream would go on and go on while we sway against all things thrown our way. And the morning would be so cruel, when it came with sunshine and warmth to blame, for announcing the end of my sweet dream.
All at once
This is a tumblelog, kinda like a blog but with short-form, mixed-media posts with stuff I like. Scroll down a bit to start reading, or a bit more to read more about me.
