Every time I rest my head on his chest, I could hear echoes of all the people who had let go.
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𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐎 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐅? | ✅
PoesíaYou are the reason I have ink stains on my fingertips. art by yuschav arly
Echo.
Every time I rest my head on his chest, I could hear echoes of all the people who had let go.
