When Home Isn’t A Place
I wear our memories on my sleeve like paintings on a wall. I soak in our laughter like sun-soaked curtains on a bright afternoon. I recall your voice in my head like a record player stuck on repeat.
I wear our memories on my sleeve like paintings on a wall. I soak in our laughter like sun-soaked curtains on a bright afternoon. I recall your voice in my head like a record player stuck on repeat.
I am not another man’s career. I am not his degree. I am not his travels, and I am not his.