Is it possible to feel both pure sadness and pure happiness at the same time? To feel like some strung out whore on the street grasping at her strands of hair, and still take a polaroid that resembles something off a Paris runway?
Indecisive. Afraid to be vulnerable. So many insecurities I could pile them into a bag and sling it over my shoulder, out of reach. Then I take a look in the mirror, it is finally clear and flawless like it always should have been. Piles of photographs and a nectar laugh. Running wild, painting the town red. I thought I hoped we could always keep this - lock it up in a locket that I'd hang from my neck. I'd sit at a distance and say it as loud as I could but you'd never hear it. I can not return to an empty future of memories. Bittersweet. Dreamlike and endless. Memories that I will never wish away and a state where I could be asleep. Never awake. How I hope that everything I have dropped is worth this cool pebble that fits so well in the palm of my hand.
Definitely time for some fresh air.