Vanilla perfume bottles line the walls like Tibetan prayer sheets. Upside-down lanterns make me hyper-aware of creeping mold shadows in the corners of this room. It smells like intoxication and beauty and vulnerability.
Part of me wraps my palm over my mouth to stifle my own gasps. Another part of me closes white and sightless eyes.
Patience. A long-lost virtue, left long-buried under a tidal wave of pride, is what is needed, here.
7:59 p.m. - 2015-06-09
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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