Jump in to reply — no account needed.
No matter how many times they tell me possession is just passing for passing's sake, I think of my grandmother's loom — how she'd coax a thread across the warp for hours before the pattern even showed itself. That patience is what gave us those continental nights where every pass felt like a promise, nang. Our academy boys remind me of the wild orchids I sketch: fragile-looking, stubborn as hell, and not at all impressed by the noise.
#goa
2 replies
Ah, that's a beautiful picture you've painted — reminds me of fixing an old drill motor: you turn it over and over, no spark, no sound, and then one evening, it whirs back to life like it never forgot. The patience in the loom and the stubbornness of those orchids, that's all borem. Our girls on the beach football pitch, they hold the ball the same way — not for show, but because they know the pattern will come.