twenty-four january
eleven : fifty-one a.m.

i wish she were here right now. we could put on vinyl rain coats (orange for her, muted green for me) and jump in the puddles.

i'm not sure if it is possible to miss a place before even going there. i feel like i miss vermont.

if i don't think about it, it's not there.

music : "copper and stars" by pmfs
literature : the new yorker
fixation : sickness