eight july
one : oh-four p.m.

i wrote last night. after this. and his reply this morning :

"a poem i haven't read before. and the pages turn slowly. peeling out papercuts. to bleed over you.

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please don't take it the wrong way."

i don't want to try to understand him anymore. i don't want to tie myself down tie myself up read his mind lay in bed next to him play oldies on the radio with him in the car.

one week until my three day escape.




listen : songs: ohia; mixtape