“ The pen to a writer is like a cigarette to a smoker, they need it to take the edge off. ”
...what happens when you returnand find nothingbut a hollowed shell,shingles and floor,walls and echoesand the light that lead you herehas now burned outand the ones who built ithave traveled afarand you cant go to them,no matter what shoes you wear.
~ Kellie Elmore
Sing me a love song in a slow, southern drawl to the tune of sunny days...
Poetry will die when love and pain cease to exist.
Sacrifices made for love are fine, unless the sacrifice is you.
