She moves in memories.

Tonight, in the infinitesimal light of the stars, the trees and the flowers have been strewing their cool odours; I walk among them, but none of them are noticing.

Wednesday, 29 January 2014

Dreaming like a girl so in love.

 
 
This is what dreams are made of...
Posted by Loreta Hayward-Smith at Wednesday, January 29, 2014
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