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     “bring a majesty...
                       poem in a hand.. 89”
Each analog dream i experience feels as though spirits are inscribing my existence: drifting infinitely beyond the grasp of metaphors, unable to articulate the extraordinary authenticity of those moments. A faint drizzle descends, dispelling the once-dominant aesthetic, swept away ostensibly happiness no longer lingers. Perhaps too melancholic or maybe not enough romantic. A writer remains a writer, destined to-be written someday...whenever life ceases to script its blithesure.

        writing about the journey and nature of a very handsome person, telling about what this handsome man likes and dislikes, carving out the beginning for our beautiful story together later. Jerrick Easton introduction.