sitting at desks and dancing a little, with the face just grimacing a bit with the thunderstorms of the mind, followed by cartoonish looks around the room to hide it back in. the world is boiling, and all is changing but me, all is still the same but there are things to be excited for, maybe, maybe soon, maybe
and maybe sometimes it's worth remembering that paris will always be beautiful

old times return to me in tacky little outfits and neon green veils, and it feels safe, unlike the relentlessness of large, dark spaces and the pain in my boiling bones, ribcage that is; but i love it
sometimes piles of moments are just piles though,

family time

german winters; pantha du prince beating the chill into you as the heat does nothing but sweat. sweat all over your blurred tan lines, blurred outlines of people on your skin, people, always there with you. tear-stained nights and cheesy songs are not all that far behind, and nothing is pulling you out of the cheap melody lines that shroud your eyes. dreams of suns and lizards, but the zen keeps you going, duct tape saves all days.

Bitterness, recriminations, advice, morality, sadness - everything was behind him, and ahead of him was the ragged and ecstatic joy of pure being.

stripped off lone cuddles in the pm are only reminders, but still the smiles creep along little phone screens and all is love, even the sun is still out there and you know that's home