tiny wings

the fruit flies have multiplied

drawn to the sickly sweet residue

of me and you

sour and saccharine

our home is an orchestra

filled with

the inaudible hum of tiny wings

 

a.d. 2016

 

 

 

 

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"She would fill endless notebooks with stories about the characters in her life, their impressions, words, friends, lovers, inspirations, fantasies. She spent her days dreaming up worlds where they fit together in visions; the if only, the never again, the someday. Those who knew her best would describe her as a creature with a clear and sometimes painful sense of herself; furious with ideas and convictions, to a point that she frightened love away with discernment and a relentless strength of character."

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