There is a storm outside, as noisy as a group of drunken men in a brawl. Its one of those days, when time rolls back like a curtain and you are every age you have ever been, at once. On days like this, I just wake up with a voice in my head echoing Ginny's voice from 1000 acres, 'because those children will have something we never had a chance of ever having ... hope'
Enthrallment lies in the heart of the beholder. I remember watching you for hours, never bored of the tiny details of your daily life. Your tiny hands curled into two smudged pink blobs of half done flesh, topped with sharp slivers of nail, with which you scratched yourself all over.
Originally Posted at Prerona.