i like the the colour of raspberries on white kitchen counter tops. or the inside of orange peels, left discarded on those green picnic tables in june. i find something curious about women smoking cigarettes on film and this acts inability to transfer its attractiveness over into reality. there are so many more things i'd wish to tell you, like how she wrote that note which i found in our sheets, she said it was for me but i knew it was not and all these kids bitch and moan about being alone, but what's worse is trusting someone else with your happiness. i have not fallin' asleep sober in seven months (it washes away those dreams that used to keep me up) but that is not to say i am unhappy, i just refuse to give up these wonderfully calm nights to those empty meaningless memories. but your heart is a million times safer to hide these thoughts than hers ever was, and a beauty which she had lost long ago holds itself in you tenfold. you remain to remind.
