I want to grow old with you.
We’ll wrinkle together. And grey.
Lose our glasses, our vision, our hearing, our memory, our friends.
Look back at days past. With much fondness and some regret. Continue reading →
There was a time I’d write.
With fountain pen and India ink.
On handmade paper. Continue reading →
Pretty petals all in a row, Continue reading →
Recognise. Continue reading →