GRAFFITI NIGHT
Somewhere in the aftermath of the storms and winds and moving, things find a way of making themselves permanent despite the overally temporary feeling of time. Photographs are finding their place somewhere else, words are left in the pillows during the night, and there needs to be something more out of this than what I'm getting. Big decisions need to be made, and long times away on the road need to be taken. If only we had cast ourselves out sooner, if only we had more reason within our own bones. Somewhere, I lost my romanticism and my grief (the two go hand in hand when they are away), and compensate with long, tired days of laying in bed with the cold. We are barren now, and in it we remember the dreams of fulfillment and youth.