The Bookshop Sessions #23

The twelve houses point in a way I cannot seldom say. For there is a fairy tale taking place amongst the inspired flora of Turkey. 

—I leave a space where the lily pads rest and the rest unfolds. For holding on so long only brought strain to these frail wrists. Enough changes when the lane is left—To be. 

Honestly, it’s more than enough. 

“Come alive”, says The Voice that speaks with no lips. Its tendons move without sound around about four thirty. When you sit amongst the dust bunnies occupying the forgotten home. For its own left long before The Twelve Houses seldom say; 

A Direction 

Is a Way