Sweet Nothings
TTF
Curled over and rolled up, warm words under blankets on November nights. What we whisper doesn't matter, language lost in the space around our necks. Sweet Nothings but a rustle and a breath, understanding all that's left.
Curled over and rolled up, warm words under blankets on November nights. What we whisper doesn't matter, language lost in the space around our necks. Sweet Nothings but a rustle and a breath, understanding all that's left.
