There’s something about writing at night.
Some sort of majesty.
It’s not the quiet that I love so much as the stillness.
Outside my walls it’s always a rush.
And I’m caught in it, you understand.
Everyone is. Continue reading
There’s something about writing at night.
Some sort of majesty.
It’s not the quiet that I love so much as the stillness.
Outside my walls it’s always a rush.
And I’m caught in it, you understand.
Everyone is. Continue reading