Knowing you and loving you was not unlike walking through a minefield in the woods. There were no paths. There were no directions. There were no maps.

There were weeds like razor blades.

There was no flagman. Just trains that came thundering from some unseen, unscorched horizon. You were a fugitive.

That made two of us.

By design, the ponies in Elysium brought beauty and pain the seductions of a witch. Sorrow was a prophylactic. You could not be reached in time.

Without a scratch.

https://tim-barrus.format.com/about