twenty-nine march
nine : oh-seven p.m.

there really isn't anything better to do than sit here in the candle light with the windows open, thinking about the same thing that has been on my mind for weeks.

i wish he would show up outside my window and just stand. not say anything. leftover autumn leaves blowing around his feet. close his eyes, look up, listen to my music that is running through the screen.

let that fever play.

music : "sunrise, sunset" by bright eyes
literature : nothing
fixation : back