cred.
un village
joanne. 20. she/her.
on hiatus
🍳

she was a ghost on the tip of my tongue,
vapour,
a phantom of my own creation.

she seeped into my life,
serendipitous,
a spot of dawn’s light on starved eyes.

she revelled in words i could not know,
ineffable,
a laugh torn from my throat

Mar 7    1,405 notes      
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