𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋⊹☾⋆⁺₊🎧✩°。
when i was nineteen i’d listen to Jeff Buckley on burnt CDs and drive through the English countryside. smoking a spliff with the boy i loved [because they don't do joints in England] as rolling emerald hills dotted my peripherals. my smile stretched across the island like i’d never been hurt. thought we’d never grow older, or apart. but Mother Time works the graveyard shift and both, of course, happened. and it's true that we don't ever really know how young we are. someday i’ll look back on my current self - this exact version and i'll think GOD she was young!! and beautiful! and she didn’t know it in her bones! i try and pause the clock just to catch my breath but time is pasta water through a sieve spiralling down the drain i still need to deep clean. there are imprints left behind though, the love letters and photo albums and the way a song splits the spacetime continuum. the love stays etched into our tendons. all of the scars, the softness, still there. love has a way of inching her way back inside, picking the locks over and over again. i’d like to think that i would still get stoned and speed past castles in a little Fiat, believing that both love and youth are forever, simply because they are golden.
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
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Oh the metaphors and the feeling of panic this gave me about time slipping away was the most beautiful form of anxiety. The kind that pushes you out the door and makes you seize the day. Amazing! Loved it!
This is so great. Really. I don’t think I’ve ever found someone who writes with so much soul as you do! I appreciate you so much.