scorp

Nobody realizes how small we are, in a big, big, cruel world.

It’s the fifth time he’s been here this week. 

Time could kill, but it could not kill everything.

I thought love was all in the shoulders. Hunched, preparing for the moment you will lunge at my neck. [...] Love and fear, as far as I knew, were the same scars.

a nostalgic poem?

writing is unseeing.

sometimes i wonder if there’s a point to even writing this

a dark walk in the city

Birthday cakes and treasure hunts. Damp towels and bickering in a squeaky car. White wine and cigarettes.

If all the unfathomable chances and stars didn’t drift into a straight line, like an airplane runway for me to take off into their heart.