I’m indifferent, you lost me standing on the dark corners and waiting for light to turn red.
J’aime the little wooden matchsticks (allumettes!) with rose-colored combustive tips, which I light the gas stove with to make café au lait in the morning
Instead of worshipping a creator or man, I cared fully for myself, and felt no guilt and confessed nothing, and in this place I wrote, I was nourished, and I grew
she was a lure, a light, an intimate flame, a secret kept
Come back, even as a shadow, even as a dream
The hardest person to awaken Is a lover feigning sleep