Jul
17th
Sun
17th
busy bee,
i’ve found has stung me.
save me, i’m drowning in its rapid honey.
all i see are swirls of gold, blurred faces.
cannot be broken by
such a frailty. ∞
"The story I am writing exists, written in absolutely perfect fashion, some place, in the air. All I must do is find it, and copy it."
-Jules Renard
This is my doing so.
