Ph'nglui mglw'nafh studiomnivorous R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.
The rose gold nostalgia of silence creeping down late afternoon walls, here. The desk, puddled in the middle of it, is full of many things: some useful, some remembered, some forgot. Writing has been largely of the worldbuilding variety, that slow and determined attempt to build, at the best of times, some kind of sense into most things; at others, it works mostly as a threshold cemented with letters and objects and a keystone of intent to hold it together just long enough to walk through.
Hope you're well, friends.