Love was born on the night before the frost settled over new york city. It was the fog that coated the rosy pink of the sky a hazy, damp blue. whisking away the subtle promise of a spring fling from the more young, impressionable, girls. It was a squealing child, a scar of countless hands that pledged mended hearts to bleeding souls. before landing on dewy grass, crying to the teenage jealousy. and flying off, to start again.
love in new york (j.d)
















