Tuesday, June 29, 2010

the distance is blurred.

Everything is softer today. The breeze sweeping through the open windows, ruffling DIY curtains and skimming my face. Grey light, black lace, bare legs. Succumbing to Salem, chopped and screwed, sipping room temperature coffee as the water hits the pavement below. A scratch on my stomach exposed by loosely hanging heathered navy cotton. Chipped nail polish and rings resting between knuckles. Vignettes of existence. I awoke before eight, questioning whether to commit to the morning. The sheet balled and twisted on the floor by dust-covered leather boots. And the hours pass.

I am here, but my head is empty. Which, at points, is a welcomed state. To fill a vase with water and place you in the back of my mind. Slowing it all down again.


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