see there's a problem with wanting more from something that's been corroded right through. i keep expecting the ghost in the machine to spin some gossamer magic.
and everyone else is so in love, in love.
what is this? this abstracted fraction of god only knows...
maybe it'd fit more snug if we went somewhere cold. somewhere that we could invent names and places for ourselves, weave new lives out of the fragments of happier times and no one would be any the wiser.
1 comment:
First of all, always remember...
A mother always knows.
Second of all...
Your heart is so beautiful, your written word so eloquent... but, I'm sorry, I wish your words were for someone more deserving of such beautiful prose.
Third of all...
I'm not the only one who feels this way and that should tell you something very important, my love.
I love you so much... but you know that.
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