August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.
September: it was the most beautiful of words, he’d always felt, evoking orange-flowers, swallows, and regret.
August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.
September: it was the most beautiful of words, he’d always felt, evoking orange-flowers, swallows, and regret.