A moment of awkward silence. It’s in page two-forty-eight, damn!—I happen to know it by heart. Just turn over the page. Yes, there it is, sitting pretty amid the yellowish nothingness.
The never-have-beens often take a break from their rustiness to listen to the bluesy notes of what could have been. And, a minor note from nowhere vibrates inside the memory, even when we sweet-talk the beast into its den.
I have lost the ribbons I had saved for someone.
The never-have-beens often take a break from their rustiness to listen to the bluesy notes of what could have been. And, a minor note from nowhere vibrates inside the memory, even when we sweet-talk the beast into its den.
I have lost the ribbons I had saved for someone.
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