“ Sing me a love song in a slow, southern drawl to the tune of sunny days... ”
...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
Poetry will die when love and pain cease to exist.
Sacrifices made for love are fine, unless the sacrifice is you.
Sometimes the only way to ever find yourself is to get completely lost.
