sixteen july
five : twenty-five p.m.

clothes from yesterday still in a pile on my bed (some kicked to the floor during the night), sheets like smoke wine sweat anticipation. your lips and your hair and your skin and my hopes are so high i can't see them anymore.

but i'm different, now. i don't get hurt. immune and independent and doing what i want.

so let's run away to the beach. just for a night, or two. i will use my blue suitcase, and i will kiss you in the dark.




listen : "me and the major" by belle and sebastian