Seasons change, friends grow apart, lovers run out of love, and in the end you’re only left with this skin.
Look closely, all these lines itched on your skin.
Yes the barely visible ones. They tell a story, your story. Why do you think his touch made you shiver? He moulded your story and now somewhere in those thousand lines.. there are hundreds that lead back to his details, you see that’s what people do.
Make a spot, itch a line, open the door, close shut a window; maybe a french window (if you know what i mean), ink their part in your story and when their need to feel wanted is fulfilled they walk away, to ink another part in another story.
















