Wednesday, August 24, 2005Unwritten LettersI push on the door with slight trepidation Just barely grazing the rotting wood Splintering against my sensitive skin I step inside slowly until my eyes adjust To the musty darkness circling me like a cat Squeaking and howling in conversation Smelling like attics and secret chambers Dusty sheets... Sign in to see full entry.posted by MiaElla at 1:53 PM Comments (8) (permalink) |