not perfect, but good
I started writing because I was afraid of how easily thoughts would disappear. Not the important—but the small ones. How light shifts when I leave a room. The sound of a page turning in the night.
Small observations. They don’t ask to be understood. Only to be recorded and maybe read, slowly.
— Lucía M.
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≻: A bun dance
This post is a marker for me. A line in the sand. Again. I have many such lines. I don’t know whether my lines advance…
Stitch This 