flower;
to cleanse your life takes more than time
i'm playing that it's summer, with sleepy psychedelia and incense gliding out of the open window. why is it that everything seems so overwhelmingly simple and easy when i'm sitting alone and it's evening outside [evening - think of it literally, too. the time of day that evens out the creases and the stresses; here my heart knows calm]? february light is to cruel to me; i hate this slow eking-out, these drab grey months.
i rely on summers; perhaps it's to do with that sleepy silly hippy backwater cornish town that's only half-mine if mine at all yet somehow all mine, all the same. launceston seems grimmer and greyer now, but i remember living there; barefoot nights at the castle; the smells of skunk and sunbaked grass and fresh air. you'd just sit around and watch the sun go down behind the wooded hills. {there's a song that my mother played to me last summer, performed by stan getz + astrud gilberto. quiet nights of quiet stars, quiet chords from my guitar / floating on the silence that surrounds us -- always makes me think of those hazy launceston summers growing up}
(i just had an email from izzy; exes and ohs. i might be exhibiting in an abandoned shop!)
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{{dear you:
take what you want
take all of me }}