THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
The room was very small and there were only eleven or twelve of us there and against the single pink light, your hands on the harp were perfectly silhouetted.
Bleeding out- He is the place I am going to-
The nights are never dark here, drifting down below the Bonaventure, I've no proof it isn't light. Even the silence isn't silent, even the night is no longer night.