He loved Bukowski and Hemingway (though I had to disagree with the latter).
He loved camping and making things with his hands His rugged, strong - yet tender - hands. Yet, the smiles he gave me were made by heart. His heart so big and open... But, I digress. He could cook and write and make you feel like no one else mattered When you were around. I miss him. It's better where he is. He has infinite beauty and I shall never forget.
0 Comments
Your comment will be posted after it is approved.
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorAudrie is a writer and editor living in Illinois. She is a fan of all things horror and pop culture. Archives
February 2021
Categories |