Once I had a raspy voice and my hands were cold.
I'm trying really hard not to lie and my sickness is subsiding.
I wish I was moving to Colorado and my old hobbies are chasing me.
Drugs are distant and few and I hate the feeling of your hands on me.
I like; polaroids of friends and finding old notes that were misplaced.
The word bitter and forests with bark that bites.
The colour of yarn and hot tea.
Ice cold water and walks alone.
Her house and new experiences.
The odd kids and folk songs.
Eccentric shoes and shoulder blades that rust in the rain.
Pine cones and letters in French from those that I hold dearest.
Edemame and Burberry perfume.
Opened doors and the only places I've felt alive.
I hate; Ignorance and the fact that most people are ignorant of their ignorance.
I am new. I am no longer bitter. I am not in love. Yet I am perfectly happy to exist. I'm alive.
