Category: Heirloom

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride; I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.” Neruda

Here, there were pockets full of happiness. Pockets of laughter, light and dancing. The aroma of good food, of sweetness rising. Here, there were pockets of frustration. Pockets full of I don’t knows, of tears, of narrowed […]