Fee-fi-fo-fum - Now I'm borrowed. Now I'm numb.
And the aura of you remains, remains, remains...
I burn the way money burns.
The snow has quietness in it; no songs, no smells, no shouts or traffic. When I speak my own voice shocks me.
A woman who writes feels too much.
Sometimes the soul takes pictures of things it has wished for, but never seen.