A letter to my missing beloved, coffee.
A phase of a mother, diluted in disguise.
I don't know if you know who you are until you lose who you were.
There is a space for your message in my inbox, a session between your heart and mind, a platform where you can portray your true self because I won't judge you. Start a conversation!
Clocks slay time - time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops, does time come to life?
The sublime nature of love
Letters To Him
How I feel right now.
What is in that mind?