# 2; * 11:11

[ written 1—27—24, put the pen down 11:11pm ]

a flute of champagne tastes sweeter when you look my way. i hope someday soon you'll look at the sky and the stars look just the way they did that one night when you were twelve. the buttons on one side of your coat that wouldnt snap on the other side. they were just for fashion not for function you told me. realizing that closing the curtain while the rain seeps down your windowpane is the same as turning a blind eye when god weeps. everything happens for a reason. fresh spraypaint upon rotten fences in towns no one remembers. laying in bed on the phone but it's not with the person you wanna be talking to. threes a crowd. looking in my drawer and realizing that being happy with you and being miserable without you are kinda the same thing. i dont feel right as a human being. i don't think any one of us was made correctly. i dont remember what i lost my mind about. my best memories consist largely of daydreams. i wasnt even there for most of them. i am a mosaic of everything i've ever loved. light refracting off a piece of broken glass. peeking through a hole in the blinds and craning your neck to see the exact thing you dont want to be seeing. theres no passion anymore, only manufacturing. only a market. only nothing. like paths worn just a few feet off the sidewalk for the convenience of saving a few seconds. how terribly lucky is it that our paths crossed. i wonder if elsewhere maybe i could have done better. sledding on snowy childhood hills in wet boots. remembering crying yourself to sleep but not quite remembering why. fidgeting absentmindedly with the zipper on your trashed backpack. looking past someone who's eyes twinkle when they see you and knowing you'll regret it. hearing new harmonies in songs you've heard a million times. silently disagreeing with someone you care about who's voicing the world's shittiest opinion from the second room over. wanting to dedicate songs to someone but knowing it's better not to. (hands up!) wearing sneakers down through the soles. you're all talk. i'm all talk. i was made for fashion not for function. i lost count ages ago  (loose lips sink ships)

xo qr (ft. pw)