Next flight out of Tullamarine
i can still smell you in the coffee cup lids;
under my nails,
on the pillow on your side of the bed,
on my cardigan,
in the still air
the moment i open the door
though you are no longer there
see you on the front page one day, baby. i wanted to tell you that i'd fallen; but your head is way too high up in the clouds to notice the mere mortal that i am.
RIP, VIC.
Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.