We race into twenty twelve with these dreams held tight in our grubby hands. Running into the darkness, hope clutched high in a triumphant fist, heels over stones and hair bleeding carelessly into the night behind us. Run with abandon, still believing the fantasy that our intentions will be ours and ours forever. Believing that morning will come and these dreams will outlive the night.
2 comments:
I like dat billowing skirt.
Stole it from Elle's wardrobe!
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