afteryears

I like to imagine my heart as a flame, and my body merely the heat radiating from it. When I look out the window at night I can't help but feel a sense of longing. Every night I leave the comfort of my home, being drawn into the drug of the darkness. I love the feeling of the new, green grass on my soft legs, and as I sit in the dark I glide my fingers through this fur of the earth. I'm fascinated by its texture and how it reminds me of my childhood pet, my wooly dog. When he was younger his fur was gentle like cotton, a warm insulator for snow and ice. Yet as he aged, his fur grew rough to the touch like the sharpness of the grass. I like to