Photo by Resource Database™ on Unsplash
Maybe the sun will
bleach his bones, dry him brittle
like how he left me.
About the Creator
R.C. Taylor
I write to invoke, to process, to honor, to resurrect, and—sometimes—to grieve but, above all, I write to be free.
Follow along for stories about a little bit of everything (i.e. nostalgia and other affairs of the heart).



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