I wish I could shake your hand and greet you with warmth in my cheeks and a smile on my face, discussing literature and life, laughing about the cruelties of postmodern times until the colours of the sky have changed and the cashier approaches us with a mop in hand, telling us that the coffee shop's hours have come to a close. And still we continue to walk together, you and I, down the road and into the night sky.

Athazagoraphobia: fear of being forgotten

~ Please help my goals! ~ 
✔ have 1k fans
☐ have 1.5k fans! 
☐ finish a story