Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenely, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but passes it does. Even for me.
Sist sett
Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenely, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but passes it does. Even for me.