Leanmon
@carriel77
On a lonely ridge, the wind pressed cold fingers against my skin. It smelled of snow and forgotten places, and in its ache, I heard the low hymn of something older than grief.
4 replies
1 recast
6 reactions
Raha Math
@rahamath
I want to drink these words out of a crystal cup.
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
