Wednesday, August 13, 2014


Three friends sitting in a living room, doubled over in laughter.
A big bowl of cereal with not enough milk.
Someone's old sweater, two sizes too big.
Last night's inspiration feverishly scribbled upon a table top.
A window.
A pink sky.
Eyes that have lost their exhaustion, but none of their excitement.

 "Every minute is a memory.
  You don't exist; you're just a ghost to me."

No comments:

Post a Comment

Go with grace.