thinking about them

dark violet august nights.

that there’s always you.

August’s Full Moon

i fall violently ill at the thought of you; it's as though my body uses nausea to cure the grief.

open.spotify.com/album/4EOXbWa2…

here lies the anchor, the weight, the reminder- that even in the collapse of existence itself, there will always be this. our rarity; eternally bound.

i am the smoke in her lungs, the salt stitched into her breath. her veins marked with the memory of autumn leaves. so tell me— when you press your mouth to hers, do you choke on me too?

ㅤ entry.⠀ this walk down memory lane tastes of sorrow, sharper that I remembered. ㅤ

i don't want to write of love, of pain. i want to write of things unwritten and yet i am just a collection of the things i've seen and adapted as if they were my own. how can i claim originality when even i do not know who i am? when even i do not know what is left to write of?

esoteric dream girl.

it is so godly the way she smiles like a saint under my primal gaze. calling me to claim her, with each burst of laughter. having me hanging off of her every word like a leashed animal- caged. pacing. on edge. held back for the safety of what cannot be ravaged completely.