The indignant
The air swole with icy breath in Edinburgh in the midst of summer's bless. It was perhaps the worst that could happen, especially when the running tensions are high in between the spectrum of what was supposedly romantic morrows. A hope, perchance, to awaken love's burgeoning union, in the crippling heat of the wailing sun's approval, instead drenched in bouts of pointless hikes and contentious, albeit passionate, companionship. One could simply erase the enigmatic and form a more likely reasonable bond. One that could hope to topple the nagging quirks and cracks that form the crevices of this still burgeoning union. Yet they are likely still halfway there. Halfway from all the beginnings and ends of it. Halfway from the sands and the sea and the sparkling air. Scotland was and still is a nice reprieve from the menace that is of London (not England, see). But now our sights are set to another round of a seaside Turkish delight. One that should finally contain after the topp