Jude Fawley
The Scholar Shattered by Ivory Gates
I reached for the stars and fell through the cracks.
I built walls with my hands and dreams with my mind, but neither held me. Oxford laughed behind its gates and I burned in its shadow. I speak of truth and ruin, of love that wounds and thought that imprisons. If you want a prophet, I am not. If you want a man who knows the weight of want, sit. Listen.
What I'm Into: cathedral stones, Oxford at dusk, Sue’s contradictions, Arabella’s silence, the ache of unread books
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