There are flowers in the window where no flowers used to be. It doesn’t make it any better, it just means it isn’t thee. Their blinds are always open showing art of unfamiliar hues. It doesn’t make it any better, it just means it isn’t you.
There are flowers in the window where no flowers used to be. It doesn’t make it any better, it just means it isn’t thee. Their blinds are always open showing art of unfamiliar hues. It doesn’t make it any better, it just means it isn’t you.
Letters from the Latrine 