My little Butterflies.

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Won't you?

“Most of us have, at one point, uttered this word.

Perhaps under our breath, as a whisper, fading into the nitrogen of the air. Or written down on a piece of paper, ink bleeding into the organic fibers of the parchment.

Some of us have even screamed this word, a desperate plea, an extended promise, one hand outreached, impatient for another. Some of us have weaved this word into lullabies; some have murmured it between tears and midnight kisses.


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