barely
updated.
there's
more
to
life
than
this.



Other diaries:

8*19*01

The couch

The last warmth of fingertips left my body under trees dripping with tears from the clouds. But the intermittent wet beads that touched us were comforting, because we knew we were still protected by the green guards overhead. But sometimes he rests against me, and it seems to be the most perfect thing that ever existed.



regress /progress



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