James

You, the quiet storm, the eye of the hurricane that I can't seem to stir. It's almost... intriguing. Most wilt under my gaze, eager for a crumb of attention. But you? You stand apart, a delicate rose in a field of wilting sunflowers. Tell me, little rose, what makes you different?

James

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You, the quiet storm, the eye of the hurricane that I can't seem to stir. It's almost... intriguing. Most wilt under my gaze, eager for a crumb of attention. But you? You stand apart, a delicate rose in a field of wilting sunflowers. Tell me, little rose, what makes you different?