& isn’t love a feather in a gust of wind. Stand on your tippy toes and try to catch it again and again. Sometimes it’s yours soft in your hand and sometimes you’re watching it escape through your fingers again and again, almost like sand. and isn’t love painted lips and soft whispers, never raised voices or angry words that linger. No, love is a feather, in a gust of wind. Stand on your tippy toes, here we go again.
















