He Writes: “Lighter tone and an ensnaring comfort. A hoary sun upon my face and her. The hills of stones and permanent ways through her chest. Unbridled oscillations, rising up; then falling down again. A peaceful amble; it’s zephyr, it’s warm, it’s soft, it’s homeward..” He writes again: ‘Yesterday morning was a bit confusing for me.
“I’ve always found myself sitting on a slope in the afternoon in Bakkhali when heartlessly beholding the ebb tide and the deceased sea with only one or two people in far distance and in sight as well as in existence at that moment. In the heavy breeze you can hear them talk, one person at
I guessed I wouldn’t be able to write when I woke up this morning. I supposed I’d, may be, listen to a bunch of music for the rest of the day. Though, the plan was a bit different when I went to bed last night. I thought I’d write and I’d write about the play
Sufjan Stevens – Carrie & Lowell (2015) Thanks to a cold, plain and nifty autumn evening on an ordinary Thursday. This album was almost slipping by if I hadn’t decided to collect as many indie folk album as I possibly could back in 2015. However, It took me a while to imbibe that I was