StreetSpirit
Active Ranker
In the quiet of the nights,
the miles melt into whispers.
Her absence a ghost
that fills my empty rooms.
I reach out through the silence,
craving her touch.
Distance is a thief,
but love refuses to be stolen.
the miles melt into whispers.
Her absence a ghost
that fills my empty rooms.
I reach out through the silence,
craving her touch.
Distance is a thief,
but love refuses to be stolen.