You live in the back of my throat. Folded up there. A memento.
Your scent. Your memory. Muted and momentary. Heavy. The smell of sleep. Reminiscent. Bittersweet.
Once I laid my head on you. Inhaled to match your rhythm. As if somehow that’d bind us close together indelibly.
You live in my cavities. Empty spaces of my body. Your voice. Your memory. Planted deep. A pit inside me.
"But let’s pretend that we’re okay, is that okay? Just right now.
I miss your hand inside of mine, I miss the times we’d use to cry,
when mom was drunk and yours just sucked and everything was so sixteen.
And although I still see you around, it’s just not the same”
there’s a few super revealing things about people, and I think what album they convince you to listen to when they’re blackout drunk is my favorite
Zoom de Pour l’honneur. En toute inutilité. Broderie,2014, Julie Sarloutte.