13.05.24, or handbooks on via crucis

[anabypixies]

I spend my nights facing an unlocked gate in hopes I catch the passage of time in a rusty whim. I don't. It has a way of overrunning you like Santa Claus in your grandparents' porch; like the realization of yourself a little too late.
I don’t regret as much as I wonder or as much as I tether "what ifs" into dirty locks of hair. Open-mouthed prayers

Comments

[graveofyou]

so painstakingly beautiful