"You writer, you liar"
Closer
"Poor + obscure as you are"
Charlotte Bronte
"Thy head is a quick forest filled with sleeping birds
Thy body to me is April
Thy thighs are white horses yoked to a chariot of kings
Thy hair upon thy shoulders is an army with victory and with trumpets
They legs are the trees of dreaming"
E.e Cummings
...moving away in a few days to Nottingham. Saying my goodbyes.
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