The Veiled Writer

Twenty years of age and still on the perpetual journey in which one is to find or reveal themselves. A thrall to life and fate both; continuously at a loss for words and therefore, reaches with desperate and sometimes patient fingers to grasp at those that produce the right wine.

The orchard is either sweet and gentle, or bitter and dry. The drink, potent or not at all. Still, with either eager or ginger lips we sip.