In The Mornings
In the mornings she taught me French and after breakfast she would paint and I would write and as the spring rain fell on the skylight and the tea steamed from its mugs my heart hummed to the music of the dream we’d found. xx Atticus
In the mornings she taught me French and after breakfast she would paint and I would write and as the spring rain fell on the skylight and the tea steamed from its mugs my heart hummed to the music of the dream we’d found. xx Atticus