Saturday, 31 August 2013

Dream of an old room

A sense of melancholy, of having been here before, and I'm not sure if I want to stay or leave. Memories cling, like old leather and musty books. Old lace shawl draped, ready to wrap around my cold body. Photographs of silent, long suffering women, look out at me from cracked walls. I know this room. I went silently mad here.

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