death, love, POEM, poetry

THE CONFESSiONS iNSiDE THE BOX

  And the page lay on the grave, the dead seemed to read and absorb each word written on it. Nothing could destroy the ink, not even the overnight rain. There are things that remain, and have always been, always present even after catastrophes and nature’s furies, just like the letters on that page. The… Continue reading THE CONFESSiONS iNSiDE THE BOX

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