She’d bet it looks just lovely. Perhaps with a bouquet of flowers held to his chest, close to his he
She’d bet it looks just lovely. Perhaps with a bouquet of flowers held to his chest, close to his heart, posed under a blanket of moss just waiting to be uncovered. Like a secret kept between him and the thicket, it patiently waits through the tide of time in sweet repose until the moment strikes someone should wake him up.Life is not a poem.Chapter 7: To Be Resolved Again -- source link
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