Memoirs
10/16
The hard ground is scattered with gold-ranged spectrum leaves, and it is my bed. My body is exhausted, resulting in my blank but content frame of mind. Staring up at the vast expanses of October sky I don't think anything and the silver soaked clouds look as though they will break with snow at any minute, even if I know it isn't going to snow.
It is my favorite way the sky will ever look.
As if to offer me solace, it casts to me all the spare change it can offer. One drop hits my cheek beneath my eye. The other hits my lip. The rest falls around me.
10/17
Just when I think the world is beautiful,
somebody writes 'faggot' across my car window in permanent black marker.
Not that I still don't think the world is beautiful.
The hard ground is scattered with gold-ranged spectrum leaves, and it is my bed. My body is exhausted, resulting in my blank but content frame of mind. Staring up at the vast expanses of October sky I don't think anything and the silver soaked clouds look as though they will break with snow at any minute, even if I know it isn't going to snow.
It is my favorite way the sky will ever look.
As if to offer me solace, it casts to me all the spare change it can offer. One drop hits my cheek beneath my eye. The other hits my lip. The rest falls around me.
10/17
Just when I think the world is beautiful,
somebody writes 'faggot' across my car window in permanent black marker.
Not that I still don't think the world is beautiful.