LostMyMirth

“I would often go there. To the tiny church there. The smallest church in Saint-Saëns -- though it once was larger... How the rill may rest there. Down through the mist there. Toward the seven sisters --- toward those pale cliffs there I would often stay there. In there tiny yard there. I have been so glad here -- looking forward to the past here But now you are alone. None of this matters at all..."

“I would often go there. To the tiny church there. The smallest church in Saint-Saëns -- though it once was larger... How the rill may rest there. Down through the mist there. Toward the seven sisters --- toward those pale cliffs there I would often stay there. In there tiny yard there. I have been so glad here -- looking forward to the past here But now you are alone. None of this matters at all..."

“I would often go there. To the tiny church there. The smallest church in Saint-Saëns -- though it once was larger... How the rill may rest there. Down through the mist there. Toward the seven sisters --- toward those pale cliffs there I would often stay there. In there tiny yard there. I have been so glad here -- looking forward to the past here But now you are alone. None of this matters at all..."

“I would often go there. To the tiny church there. The smallest church in Saint-Saëns -- though it once was larger... How the rill may rest there. Down through the mist there. Toward the seven sisters --- toward those pale cliffs there I would often stay there. In there tiny yard there. I have been so glad here -- looking forward to the past here But now you are alone. None of this matters at all..."

“I would often go there. To the tiny church there. The smallest church in Saint-Saëns -- though it once was larger... How the rill may rest there. Down through the mist there. Toward the seven sisters --- toward those pale cliffs there I would often stay there. In there tiny yard there. I have been so glad here -- looking forward to the past here But now you are alone. None of this matters at all..."

“I would often go there. To the tiny church there. The smallest church in Saint-Saëns -- though it once was larger... How the rill may rest there. Down through the mist there. Toward the seven sisters --- toward those pale cliffs there I would often stay there. In there tiny yard there. I have been so glad here -- looking forward to the past here But now you are alone. None of this matters at all..."

“I would often go there. To the tiny church there. The smallest church in Saint-Saëns -- though it once was larger... How the rill may rest there. Down through the mist there. Toward the seven sisters --- toward those pale cliffs there I would often stay there. In there tiny yard there. I have been so glad here -- looking forward to the past here But now you are alone. None of this matters at all..."

It's my autism, it's my channel, I get to choose the looping music that soothes me.

It is what you make it.

It is what you make it.

It is what you make it.

It is what you make it.

“I would often go there. To the tiny church there. The smallest church in Saint-Saëns -- though it once was larger... How the rill may rest there. Down through the mist there. Toward the seven sisters --- toward those pale cliffs there I would often stay there. In there tiny yard there. I have been so glad here -- looking forward to the past here But now you are alone. None of this matters at all..."

It's my autism, it's my channel, I get to choose the looping music that soothes me.

“I would often go there. To the tiny church there. The smallest church in Saint-Saëns -- though it once was larger... How the rill may rest there. Down through the mist there. Toward the seven sisters --- toward those pale cliffs there I would often stay there. In there tiny yard there. I have been so glad here -- looking forward to the past here But now you are alone. None of this matters at all..."

It is what you make it.

It is what you make it.

It is what you make it.

It is what you make it.

It is what you make it.

“I would often go there. To the tiny church there. The smallest church in Saint-Saëns -- though it once was larger... How the rill may rest there. Down through the mist there. Toward the seven sisters --- toward those pale cliffs there I would often stay there. In there tiny yard there. I have been so glad here -- looking forward to the past here But now you are alone. None of this matters at all..."

“I would often go there. To the tiny church there. The smallest church in Saint-Saëns -- though it once was larger... How the rill may rest there. Down through the mist there. Toward the seven sisters --- toward those pale cliffs there I would often stay there. In there tiny yard there. I have been so glad here -- looking forward to the past here But now you are alone. None of this matters at all..." Sorry, the swan lake song is too strong to resist.

It is what you make it.

It is what you make it.