Infinite Tenderness

Today is a flimsy reminder that I have yet to read Orlando. Also, “It’s snowing (big flakes) and I love you,” from the letters of Iris Murdoch.

You know who you are. It’s a quiet evening, and I’ve no more cynical thoughts. It’s okay to be empty with this weight. Those faces, those voices, to you I say, night is coming (gently) and I love you.

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