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ivaana
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She was once a woman. Now she is just an idea. She scribbles her heart between rocks and puddles, dust and rain, the evening strips us, but… read moreShe was once a woman. Now she is just an idea. She scribbles her heart between rocks and puddles, dust and rain, the evening strips us, but her words stay. She is a will, an inscription on fallen stones, that once was real and now a colo… read moreShe was once a woman. Now she is just an idea. She scribbles her heart between rocks and puddles, dust and rain, the evening strips us, but her words stay. She is a will, an inscription on fallen stones, that once was real and now a color. Blue, maybe green: what color is it when you mix fire in … read more
