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Ευρυδίκη | єυɾɣɗɪƈє (
diffident_light
) wrote
in
dear_mun
2013-09-21 06:02 am (UTC)
no subject
Unless you were the poet, they know naught.
[Small fingers slide up into his hair in return, not able to wind into it like she used to, but still holding the soft strands.]
Other than it is a tragedy that I could not live my life with you.
[She's right, isn't she?]
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no subject
[Small fingers slide up into his hair in return, not able to wind into it like she used to, but still holding the soft strands.]
Other than it is a tragedy that I could not live my life with you.
[She's right, isn't she?]