Norsegraphics

Old friends are indispensable to survival - as necessary as breathing. When times are hard, they make it possible to go on. My truest friend offered a room, shelter should I ever need it, said his wife would understand. I smiled. No, she wouldn’t, but the offer itself, the knowledge that I have a place…it’s enough. He speaks to me of mayflies, of lives too short, wasted. He urges caution, practicality, while demanding that steps be taken, progress, egress out of the grave I’ve created for myself. I did a good job (but, then, I always do); my tomb is comfortable, cozy even, my dirt as pillowed as freshly

knowing I'm a fool doesn't make me want you less

It might have happened, the moment might have blossomed, but you drew away. Forgive me, but you beckoned with eyes that needed too much.