(no subject)
Home is only an idea. A memory, I guess. I'm not good with this whole 'moving on' thing.
Sometimes home is the memory of looking out of the 5th floor of the mega at the mattress that got thrown out of the window and the misty sunrise over Quebec and listening to the guy in the next bunk prance around and sing lady gaga in his underwear and a gas mask.
Simpler times.
Sometimes home is the memory of looking out of the 5th floor of the mega at the mattress that got thrown out of the window and the misty sunrise over Quebec and listening to the guy in the next bunk prance around and sing lady gaga in his underwear and a gas mask.
Simpler times.