I had remarked earlier this very evening about the poetic quality of Miranda Jonte’s writing, and here I am reading a living, breathing, ode to loving and longing. It captivates and undulates, rhythmic as breath when you’re breathless, as beautiful as whatever makes your heart beat faster.
I had remarked earlier this very evening about the poetic quality of Miranda Jonte’s writing, and here I am reading a living, breathing, ode to loving and longing. It captivates and undulates, rhythmic as breath when you’re breathless, as beautiful as whatever makes your heart beat faster.