My body has forgotten you, forgotten all.
My mind, though tired of hating, hates you still.
But to my soul you are an early dawn,
And sunlit meadows where I may not run.
La Tour Abolie
An eclectic mixture of personal essays, stuff about writing, stuff about books and far out philosophy from an old baggage in a book-tower.
That is such a perfect analogy 🙂
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Wow! You packed a lot into four little lines…and so beautifully said, too!
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