the names / were assigned to me
a whisper, a hush / murmured devotion so shy the wind means to snatch it from us
Between my ribs a sword is thrust. It goes in below the heart and comes out at the backside of the opposite hip. I can’t recall when it went in, but it must be some time ago now.
excuses for late homework written on equally worn out sofas, skipped class and patch totals.
The doors are closed, the lights dim, the whispers fade away… Welcome to Catherine Loves You, a stunning commentary on identity, love and womanhood.
Welcome back to exploring the interesting details in Helsinki with your local guide, Emilia. Local is maybe stretching it considering that the organs I would have to auction to live in today's postcode…