At times i believed that the last page of my book and the last page of my life were one and the same, that when my book ended I'd end, a great wind would sweep through my rooms carrying the pages away, and when the air cleared of all those fluttering white sheets the room would be silent, the chair where I sat would be empty.
Monday, February 4, 2013
The History of Love - Pg 9
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment