Deep inside the Lourve,

No-one ever thinks

That when the crowds have moved,

The Mona Lisa blinks.

The second loves the hour - it rushes round the minute to kiss and brush the hour hand, who stays still to greet it.

Well, almost still. But time persists, till hour is at its height...

I was the loneliest letter in the alphabet.

That is, until I met U.

The typo had always felt misunderstood.

It wasn't his vault.

It was a stormy night, and the trees were scratching at the windows, aching to come in and warm their limbs in the fire.

Souls are but words inked into paper,

Their letters flourishes on the grains of time.

So if I can keep writing after the story is over,

How can a soul stop af...