There is nothing like the floating feeling of trying to do pilates in socks and listening to Cigarettes After Sex as your knees scrape against the carpeted floor and the almost-black almost-night clings to the windows.
Knowing that something will come, but it hasn't come yet.
No. I don't want to love you.
I don't want to play songs that sound like you
until they become my whole head, I don't want
to write a poem
if you ever call me laughing and cold
She has just showered, and her hair hangs limp down her back, washed of the shampoo she waited five minutes, forehead against the cool tile wall, to rinse off. The sky is ink and charcoal, but then, it has been for hours.
& walk around soho with maxi skirts & matcha & annotate the bell jar in velvet blue ink on curling pages with garamond font & wear my hair long down my back & dark sunglasses pulled up on my head & bangle bracelets that sli
Comments
Visual and powerful.
thanks!
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