There are stories and poems everywhere, and in everything.
Often we don’t realize that the people we are closest to are the ones we tend to hurt the most.
Call it my own version of faith.
But perhaps I do wish I were rooted somewhere.
27 calls, a week or a day too late to be heard.
Do I smell romance in the air? And is that… a giant hairy phallus or Chewbacca?