"You’re so cold, right? You’ve been cold all night. Now you’re holding on, like you’re holding a child. Your eyes are shining, but it’s dark outside. Do you feel alright? Do you feel alright?... If you think you’re gonna be here long, I’m gonna miss you so much when you’re gone. All that wasted time, they call it murdering your own apartment. Daylight glows, the patterning is desolate. Now it’s breakfast time. You’re holding Hollywood above my head. Unsalted butter is my punishment."
The Long Winters, Unsalted Butter, The Worst You Can Do is Harm Nothing interesting or alarming happened today but still, I accidentally hurt myself with a line. I left with a gift by my side. Something purple. Something mild but alive. Great, a scratch from a night's out is a good remedy for perverse minds alike.
I asked, "Why do bruises always form?"
You told me, "People are like clouds."
Precisely, my dearest, precisely. Well, you should have been an arrow, or a bullet.
With that said, I want something close to me that I cannot forget. It's that or nothing else.
Labels: lyrics, photo
