You don’t want to be the best of the best. You just want to be the only one who does what you do.
Sitting. Waiting. Solitude. Encased, locked, released only by my hand, mine and only mine. Once perfect now scarred, scratched, dented. Used – and at times – abused. Her worn exterior speaks of bond and lasting beauty. Cold, wooden, lifeless at first. Slowly warming under my hand, flowing, stretching. In fading light through darkness, dying night … Continue reading Maton