cold, empty, the imperfections weighing heavily on new-formed holes; eenzaam maar niet alleen, the stone said, and i want to tell them all they're wrong. gifts are no longer gifts but shared blood, half-finished water bottles, little oil flasks, it's crazy what kind of things can mean things. the past few weeks have been too much ending too suddenly, and now i find...
if i slur a bit it's just because i'm confused don't think too much of it the incredible freedom, the freedom impossible to put into words pictures films thoughts memories, headspace, like that first breath kinda feeling after the silence under water pressure, it's like the air has found its peace in the chilly starry short smokey nights in which i woke up...
