(no subject)
There's an emptiness I'm filling with nostalgia and narcissism.
There's a longing for the figure at the center of my horizon, warped and concealed by distance and the wavy illusion of hot pavement.
The air is thick and my lungs are constricted.
I am filling myself with everything because maybe something will fit.
Consuming. Swallowing.
Sharp gasps. Mouthfuls of stale air.
Salted skin.
Hollow silence, echoing loud silence. Like rush of a conch shell cupped over my ear.
There's a longing for the figure at the center of my horizon, warped and concealed by distance and the wavy illusion of hot pavement.
The air is thick and my lungs are constricted.
I am filling myself with everything because maybe something will fit.
Consuming. Swallowing.
Sharp gasps. Mouthfuls of stale air.
Salted skin.
Hollow silence, echoing loud silence. Like rush of a conch shell cupped over my ear.