you made your path through the hedges into my heart cutting your name deeply in it and now you say that I am but a memory and not a good one either I gathered tormentil to stop the bleeding and I‘ll plant bramble in place of the boxwood convincing slowly myself that I really, truly shan’t care whether you still or ever did like blackberries that will teach you I imagine and maybe...Read More
Author: Inge Lütt
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