“With me poetry has not been a purpose, but a passion.”
meme.accepting.
there was a smile there, small and unobtrusive to the wrap of his lips over softly returned words, that settled upon charles' features at abigail's revelation. he enjoyed getting to know a person, and the precious moments when they decided to let tiny, -- SEEMINGLY UNIMPORTANT, -- pieces of themselves slip through. charles had never been a writer, not in the literary sense, but he had always been a reader.
❛ ---- to read, or to write it? ❜












