How do we find a dwelling space where love isn’t secretive or illusive? If not in this world, shouldn’t our homes, where only the walls witness everything, be space enough for love's truth?
Who is the world?
Who is the world?
Who is the world?
How do we find a dwelling space where love isn’t secretive or illusive? If not in this world, shouldn’t our homes, where only the walls witness everything, be space enough for love's truth?