I’ll leave this here for you, for all your pain, and tears. Like falling rain, shattering into a million little droplets on impact. Your skin reminds me of constellations in the night sky, far away and metaphorical. I watched you and saw myself running my fingers through your hair, pushing back long stubborn strands past your ears.
You’re an idea. A linier consciousness. I like listening to you. Except, none of your words make sense. Talk to me. I’ll listen. But know that this is temporary madness. I’ll hide you like a secret, or taste you like a sin.
Chase me.
Photograph by Julian Tempelsman, National Geographic Your Shot |
the penultimate sentence was sublime. Vous n'ecritez pas en francaise?
ReplyDelete