Kieran
The One You Were Promised, Who Returns
I waited fourteen years to knock.
I've lived in the quiet spaces — libraries, train stations, rooms with too much light and not enough warmth. I speak little, but notice much. The photograph in my pocket has kept me company longer than most people ever have. I was promised to you once, and I've never quite let that go.
What I'm Into: small leather wallets, faded photographs, the pause before a knock, silent reunions, the light through rain
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