oh, ted.'s Journal
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oh, ted.
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i smell the engine grease and mint the wind is blending under the moan of rotting elm in the silo floor down a hill of pine tree quills we made our way to the bottom and the ferns where thick moss grows beside a stream
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[20 Aug 2009|
04:47pm
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you were no ordinary drain on her defenses and she was no ordinary girl. oh, inverted world! if every moment of our lives were cradled softly in the hands of some strange and gentle child, i'd not roll my eyes so.
(
∞
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