Inspiration hits with a flash, stories written on the go. A rumble of laughter and the tale is heard only in echoes. The wind blows me in a new direction. Whom shall I visit next?
Sometimes I imagine being wrapped up tightly and completely by denim or canvas, enveloping me entirely. Bye, baby bunting. And then I would be stored away for a rainy day.
No prequels yet. Why not write one?
No sequels yet. Why not write one?
Comments (1 so far!)
In light of the last one and the potential trigger warnings on the tags, perhaps I was wrong. A month late feels like too much but I feel compelled to ask if you're all right. Without the tags, I didn't take this as a sinister piece, even with the second line. I thought of it more like there's a time and place for everything combined with the idea of a bear hibernating or some such. I know that I'm not fully available to my friends and family all the time.
- #4003 Posted 1 month ago
- Published 3 months ago.
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