Song of Myself
I imagine it to be raining. The drops tap against the panes of glass and I can imagine the cold wet outside and I savor my imaginary cold-weather melancholy. I have an affinity for the melancholic: It reaffirms my instincts…
I imagine it to be raining. The drops tap against the panes of glass and I can imagine the cold wet outside and I savor my imaginary cold-weather melancholy. I have an affinity for the melancholic: It reaffirms my instincts…