I wrote this little thingy thinking about this story i made up a long time ago...– Each time they come, the leaves in the Spring, they wear colors brighter than the last cycle of seasons. They wear their colors like masks of impending joy over their tender bodies, weak during a hot sun. As if somehow when their branch shutters and their brothers cascade thy single leave would...
I will never understand Avey Tare's taste in hats.
heyyourereallyit: come on now.