Is it the ocean’s kissthat revives a dying sun?or the moon’s longing whispers?If not,is it the hushed tears from the blinking stars?
The windwhispers in a language that only her auburn tressescould comprehend.
We believe that a photograph is a portal to the time that it holds, frozen within its dimensions. We expect the memories of those moments to resurge and leap at us, drawing us deep into those whirlpools of emotions. But I found out that it doesn’t happen that […]