XV. The way I can’t figure out if I ruin moments by twisting them into false poetry, the way a shiver sometimes feels like an avalanche, the way it says, this will have to keep you alive for months, let’s see you make it count. So there was cheap liquor and things we didn’t mean and things that we did, and I don’t remember climbing into bed in the morning, but I remember climbing out, and I wonder, every time I’m alone again, if this goodbye will be the one to kill me. 

66 notes | Reblog
1 month ago


Posted on January 17th at 4:53 AM
Tagged as: 366. blah blah blah. writing.
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