We, like smoke, are made of empty spaces: the sun, its reflection on my skin, a loud silence.Flickering in your voice: it’s not the frames you are hanging, it’s the shell built around you, the lack of changes.
We, like smoke, are made of empty spaces: the sun, its reflection on my skin, a loud silence.Flickering in your voice: it’s not the frames you are hanging, it’s the shell built around you, the lack of changes.