conjurewithrisk:This summer I am nine and you are alive and there is still time. This summer when I
conjurewithrisk:This summer I am nine and you are alive and there is still time. This summer when I tell you I can’t see anything, you just shrug and light another cigarette, and go back to telling storiesStories about winding halls, and invisible doors, and places where the dead are kept like books on shelves. Each time you finish a story, you make me tell it back to you, as if you’re afraid I will forget.I never do.- the archived by victoria schwab -- source link
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