gothic love
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Good morning, sweet day. We rise with one foot in front of the other, stepping out onto the ledge of yet another beginning. Someone once asked me if I ever grow weary of starting over. No, I told them. Better to begin again, even from the ashes, than to rot in places that no longer…
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They say words mean something or nothing at all. In the old wing of the mind, where curtains never quite let daylight in, those words gather like dust and like prayer. They could be true, false, or the careful lies someone tells themselves to make a wound less loud. In that place she lived—always moving,…
