“ That was her magic— she could still see the sunseteven on those darkest days. ”
I hope to arrive at my death, late, in love, and a little drunk.
~ Atticus Poetry
I worry there is something broken in our generation,there are too many sad eyes on happy faces.
We are made of all those who have built and broken us.
Brushing a girl’s hair behind her earonce a daywill solve more problemsthan all thosetherapists and drugs.
