ukranian dreamboat

we laugh and it pits the world against us

[borispavsky-arc]

this blog is an archive and boris is now at @borispavsky :) 

[borispavsky-arc]

this blog is an archive and boris is now at @borispavsky :) 

[bloodandfun]

saint petersburg. russia. 2018.

[borispavsky-arc]

      ‶ you want a better story, who wouldn't? ″     /  @pennyproud​

who wouldn’t?      maybe she was on to something.   though you would be hard pressed to believe that everyone would consider a different path in life.  would a millionaire wish to be poor? probably not.   but still, you indulge.   knew well enough that you held envy for those around you that had more than you did.    had homes with parents who provided love instead of terror.   had a quality education where you had nothing more than half a year of ninth grade. lips curved a smile, a playful nudge delivered to her arm; seated next to her on log in the woods.     a quiet place to come to think, to smoke, to drink -- and the odd occasion, target practice.    

             ‶  sometimes i think it would be nice but i don’t think i would be as interesting, ″   flask rose to lips, taking a drink and passing it her way.  ‶ i have been many place, know many language. i have problems, yes? but it is different.  do you wish you had better story? ″

[borispavsky-arc]

rentun·

‘ the past devours those naïve enough to forget it. ’        @borispavsky

‘ does it now? ’   ( ah nod idly, give an inane smile tae the guy from the floor. somethin about laying down here that’s more comfortable than sittin on ma arse on a seat even if it makes ma back ache like fuck aftir a while goes by. true contentment nevir wis fir me. if ah did decide to throw maself into english academia, ah’d almost let there be a direct comparison tae the company ah keep. ah like boris, ah do;  from what ah’ve gathered, full oaf useless garbage wi nuggets of gold buried in to keep yir hopes up. thit’s no a bad word on the guy: ah like listening. somethin tae do tae keep the mind busy from the mindnumbin everyday ah feel more subjected to than anythin else (ah’m sure thit is no revolutionary opinion but ah feel maself fall victim to it more an more as the day tae day passes). a wee headache from thinkin in roundabouts tae keep up wi a walkin philosophical podcaster is good for me, keeps me on ma toes. )   

                ‘ an if ah fell an knocked ma head, lost all sense oaf maself, wid ya call that naïveté or wid yis let us off on account of the present amnesia? ’   ( ah barely have a clue whit am oan about. ah roll on my side an look at boris, see if he can make heads or tails. ah feel like an interviewee thit’s snuck his way ontae set. )

           ‶  think so, yes.  life, yea? chews you up and spits you out. ″     didn’t you know it.    perhaps it was on account of the way you’d grown up.  knew how to get drunk before you knew how to read.    if the nature or nurture argument were to arise, you were the poster child for the nurture argument.  a pure product of your environment.     maybe you’d even argue that you were too far gone, years of toxicity molding the mind of impressionable youth and creating something chaotic.      even know, cigarette lay rest between lip, liquor bottles claim their rightful spot on the floor around them.     for a moment, gaze settles on renton’s body sprawled upon the floor.    your legs are crossed, back pressed against the wall.    

          ‶ i guess it can be that way. amnesia, yea?  you and i, we are too aware. i do not think there is a speck of naivety in us. ″

[borispavsky-arc]

snovak·

𝖎.         ⋆    ☻      ,       @BORISPAVSKY·     ╸      boris  pavlikovsky         :     ❝      i  think  that  you  might  be  the  same  as  me.     ❞ 

  ⭑               ❝      oh.      ❞             (         DEAR DIARY    ,     i  don’t  know  what  the  fuck  i’m  doing  anymore.       all  i  know  is  that  shit  is  getting  weird.       if  i  don’t know  know  what  the  hell   happening  in  my  own  life     ,    what  do  i  even  have  you  for    ,     at  this  point     ?          )        *         SHE  SUBMITS  TO  THE  INNATE;    gives  her  best  impression  of  a  smile      —      through   which  her  dry      ,     deadpan  disposition  shines.        sydney  allows     tender  declaration     to  settle     &       permeate  within  the  quiet.     there’s  too  much delicacy  concerning         the  notion  of  oneness      &      she  cannot  stomach  the   burden  of  its  nuance.    

      the  young  wretch  gives  a  tentative  nod      ,        ❝       okay.       ❞    

       *       ❝        IN   LIKE      …      a  good  way  or  a  bad  way          ?         or     …      ?      ❞    

there’s a slight rise and fall of shoulders ; passive shrug.   it was a thought that was fleeting, one that came and went with the drop of a hat.   you weren’t entirely sure what you meant of it.       i think you might be the same as me.     hot headed and emotional?    troubled and lost?      you’d never voice that, it wasn’t exactly a compliment now, was it?     liquored tongue licks lips, eyes focused on the sky above ; laying upon the ground and wishing for a moment that the earth would open and swallow you whole.     you wouldn’t mind it.   there had to be some form of comfort in the thought of death.  

  ‶  suppose it depends, yea? hard to say. would that be such a bad thing? ″   yes, it probably would be.   teenage addict with attachment and anger problems.     you were anything but a role model.   anything but someone that people would look up too.       some laughter slips through slightly parted lips, head shaking from side to side ; hand soon reaching into pocket to retrieve rolled joint.    placing it between lips, cheap lighter sparking to life. 

        a sharp inhale soon follows a lengthy exhale mere moments later. eyes never left sight of the sky above.    ‶ maybe it is both. ″

[borispavsky-arc]

@snovak·

⋆      *        the   disintegration  a  glaring  barricade aproaches  as  her  back  is  turned:      similarity  in  stature  and  shape  means  nothing    ,    it  seems.           he’d  gathered  her  up  so effortlessly   —    as  though  she  bore no weight at all.         inebriation  makes  her  mind  slow  to  ascertain  their  closeness;      the  proximity  of  slavic  tongue  induces  uneasiness  and  rage.          not  even  stanley  barber  had  ever  been  so  audacious.        fervid  pulse  thwacks  against  the  sharp   ,    protruding  bones  of  her  back.   

    *      (        i  refuse  to  be  this  demure    ,    emotional  being  that  everyone  thinks  they  can  coax  out  of  me.      i  couldn’t   pretend    if  i  wanted  to.        i  know  how  this  shit  goes:        everyone  wants  to  tiptoe  around  pandora’s  box  until  they  see  what’s  inside.        well   ,   tough  shit.     i’m  not  in  the  mood  for  acknowledging              the  gut - wrenching  ugliness     of  sentimentality  and  affection    ,      and  i  never  will  be.    the  box  is  locked.    and  the  key     ?     tossed  to  the  dregs.         good  luck  to  the  loser  that  goes  looking.         )       

      hot - blooded    ,     sydney’s  breath  shallows  and  she  wills  herself  to  speak   ,      *        ❛      —    what  the  fuck  are  you  doing   ?         ❜     

    if there was ever one thing you lacked clarity on - it was boundaries.   your hands wound around her and brought her closer as if she were a ragged doll that needed collecting.          you’d spoke better with actions than you ever did with words.     often sputtering out words to string together sentences in a language you were still learning.    hoping and praying they made sense.    there was more said in movements, looks and touches than you could possibly verbalize.        though it seemed to be met with something other than what you’d expected.        the tension grew, it oozed from her ; consumed you.  

            WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?         eyes blink, soon staring wide eyed at the wall across from you.      [  how could you explain to her the ways in which you hurt?  the drive behind your fear?   your jealousy?  ] 

          instantly you release her, allowing her to slide from your arms just as easily as you’d first grabbed her.     as if she were weightless.   

                 ‶  i was trying to -- forget it.  ″     stomach turns and chest tightens, it’s as if the very air you breathe is fading.    slinking back, away from her; feet swing to rest on the floor as if you’re preparing yourself to run to an exit.  preserving self in any situation.            always running instead of speaking.                         always leaving first before they could leave you.  

[borispavsky-arc]

redheid·

ah carry maself in waves till ah topple down in a graceful kind of way. ah sink and ah sink and ah sink and sink and sink until ah’m warm and wonder why ah huvnae done this in such a long time. barry fucking company boris is and ah’m glad tae have found him; he’s as grim feeling and easy going aboot it as ah need tae be around. as a rule ah keep thit shit in for tension of the room’s sake, normally ah’m peachy fucking keen, but boris and the music and the everything else reads as good of a kirkyard as ah can find for the thoughts ah’m no even sure are more than tippling invented things that dinnae half mean anything to let loose.  tell me we’re dead and ah’ll love you even more, ah’ll be abso-fucking-lutely giddy wi the prospect if this is whit it feels like when the curtain finally hits the floor. 

                ma train of thought gets broken and ah get lost in it.sorry fucking bastards: ah giggle when he rolls back over. fucking giggle and stare at him like ah really am dead, lying there refusing tae acknowledge ah do in fact have full autonomy over ma body. ma cheek stays warm when his hand drifts back away from me and goes for a fag: ah watch as he lights it, when he inhales, and the gawking pair dinnae dare stray when he keeps on talking. 

                ‘ give us that, ’   ah say, reclaim ma voice and my ain movements, reach ma hand oot for the smoke in his.   ‘ you’re so gobby. ’

    you’d always been this.     intoxicated the moment you’d left the womb.   vodka bottles replaced sip cups and suddenly anything that meant happiness and contentment became something you could purchase for the right price.                   synthetic and chemically bred.   you’d seen stars inside that were brighter than the ones outside.     renton’s words flowed like a river and you were preparing to drown.       tie and anchor to your foot and let yourself stay there with the fish.       tell me we’re dead and i’ll love you even more.    even the things you loved would soon die -- or already had.       it’s almost as if you can hear your mothers laughter overlaying the iggy pop record in the background.   dead as could be, buried somewhere that you never knew.    you could feel renton’s eyes burning into you, as if you were a painting in a museum that was left on display for all to see.         you didn’t mind.     the burn felt nice.   

        cigarette finds place between lips, inhaling sharply and exhaling a moment later with a boisterous laugh.       ‶   gobby?  you say strange thing sometimes. ya nikogda ne ponimayu. ″       [ eng. i never understand ].    inebriated tongue slung foreign words easier than that of english ; each word accent thick and heavy.       slavic boy passes cigarette to companion at his side, grinning.       ‶  you think this kill us faster? ″

             ‶  what do you think, eh?  you think death is more like flash of light and warmth or cold and empty? ″             what would await you, reckless boy, other than a cold grave with rotted flowers? 

[borispavsky-arc]

goodfelow·

@borispavsky·  said     :     if you want to go back, that’s fine with me.

❝          no   .   .   .          ❞           stubborn  streak  a  mile  wide,     even  as  the  feeling  in  his  fingers  starts  to  fade,     breath  escaping  in  sharp  gasps  that  linger  in  the  air  like  smoke       (        ten  below  in  nothing  but  a  warn  duffle  coat  and  sweater,         no  scarf  nor  hat.          attire  insane  in  weather  saner  than  this.      )         and  yet  feet  continue  to  fall,     converse  squeaking  through  the  snow  as  he  trails  a  few  feet  behind  black - clad  boy.        

alone  in  the  woods     .   .   .     alone  in  the  woods  with  a  near  stranger,     sights  set  for  destination  unknown.          (   carpe  diem,     seize  the  day    –     mr . keating  would  be  proud.        )          and   yet  he  pauses,     frozen  hands  raising  to  wind - whipped  cheeks,     a  futile  effort.          ❝          where  are  we  going,     anyways   ?          ❞

     boots stomp through snow with ease, hearing it crunch beneath each step ; a sense of satisfaction.     pink colour fills wind blown cheeks.    you’re a few feet away from the other boy -  one who left sour feelings brewing in your gut.  a boy that had jealous rage through you.     but you swore that you’d try.   swore that you’d put work in.      even if his question rose irritation.   

          ‶  to the middle of woods, thought you would be ok with such. are you not always in woods? ″       coming upon a clearing, fallen logs form makeshift benches ; empty coffee tins sit in place - used for target practice.   backpack slung off shoulder, resting against log.   sitting down, slender hand reaches into bag, pulling out a glock.     ‶  you shoot one of these before? ″  

[styleslouis]

the goldfinch (2019)

[borispavsky-arc]

       ‶ tell me we’re dead and i’ll love you even more. ″    /  @redheid

      you’re feeling sound and hearing colours ; the night sky hosts stars that seem more like planets of their own, melting into black abyss with vibrant colour from window view.    scottish boy lay beside you in bedroom, darkened space with record playing in the background.    something fitting for the occasion :  ‘ i wanna be your dog ’ off of the stooges self titled album.  [ now we’re gonna be face-to-face and i’ll lay right down in my favourite place. ]   his words sound louder than they likely are , hitting your ears as if breaking the sound barriers.      tell me we’re dead and i’ll love you even more.      shifting ‘pon mattress, slavic boy observes him with a sense of amusement.  an amusement fuelled with intoxicated intentions.    

           ‶  we’re as dead as ever, rent.  practically six feet under, isn’t that something?   the world chewed us up and spat us out, the bastard.  ″    accent thick words follow with laughter that rocks you, as you slink closer ; nudging him playfully.    a boundary to cross and you were bound to cross it.    knuckle bruised hand reaches forward to grasp his face, pulling it flush to yours.  lips met his for a kiss that felt like an eternity but lasted mere moments; rolling over to lay upon back, reaching into pocket for pack of cigarettes.    slipping one between lips, gas-station lighter sparks to life, singeing the end of cigarette which soon follows an inhale. 

             ‶  you love me even more, ha!   what sorry bastards we are.  right back at you, friend.  ″ 

[borispavsky-arc]

 snovak·

⋆      *          shame  begets  the  blood  that  pools  in  her  cheeks;    she  wills  lovelocks  to  shroud  her  face  to  conceal  its      cherry - moon  state.      lithe  figure  curls  in  on  herself;      throw  pillow  cradled  in  her  lap,     tongue  presses  ‘gainst  the  roof  of  cotton  mouth.        (     𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑   𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐘    ,     my  hands  are  shaking  so  bad  right  now.     i  just  upchucked    hot  wings  and  beer     in  the  bathroom  and  even  now  it  feels  like  my  stomach’s  gonna   plummet.      fuck  me  ,   right    ?        )        *        ❛        i  don’t  get     why  you  keep  trying  to  make  me  feel  shitty  about  it.        ❜       sydney  has  long  been resigned to such beration   ,   though  it  does  little  to  mitigate  the  sting.        her  mother   ,    dina    ,    stanley    ,    and  now  boris.     the  cluttered  intimacy  of  her  bedroom  seemed  the  perfect  setting  to  divulge  her  newborn  guilty  pleasure   ,    though  now  it  seems  the  ideal  environment  to  hearten  the  likes  of        conflict.        ❛     …   i  don’t  get  why  you  give  a  shit  at  all.        ❜  

    *    *     (      boris  really  did  a  number  on  me  today.     he’s  been  acting weird  lately    ,   pissing  me  off  ,  making  me  wanna  throw  heavy  objects  at  him.   but  he’s  just  freaking  me  out  now.    trying  to  talk  about  his     fucking  feelings.      it’s  not  like  i  can  just come out and  say,       ‘  this  isn’t  some  stupid  fucking  dr.  phil  special  ,   ’        cause  he’s  my  friend  and  all.     i  swear  to  god     ,     it  seemed  like  he  was  gonna  cry  a  couple  of  times.     shed  actual  tears.      i  told  him  he  sounded  like  a    crybaby    —    and  even  then    ,    it  seemed  like  he  was  gonna  start      boo - hoo - ing     right  there.     it  makes  me  wanna  pretend  like  i  don’t  know  him  for  a  couple  weeks   ,   just  to  feel  sane.       just  to  breathe.    i’m not cut out for this stuff.   i’m really not.      )      sydney  turns  away  from  him    ,    furled  on  her  side;     fingernails  delve  into  polyester  flesh.

            ❛     what  do  ‘ WE ’  like  ,  anyway   ?   we’re  not  special.     ❜      

         IT SHOULDN’T FUCKING MATTER.    by logic you followed, nothing should.   life is full of disappointment and we are born and simply die - everything in the middle is up for us to decide.     does it matter or does it not?     with every fibre of your being , you wanted to say it didn’t matter.    wanted to act like you weren’t jealous of some guy.       some guy.       a guy who was everything that you weren’t.     someone that was educated by way of book and not of street.      that had a family.       [ that seemed so well put together while you were regularly falling apart and stitching yourself back together with thinning threads. ]           you’d regularly lost every good thing that stepped in, what kept this from being the same?      questions hit you ,   why did you care?     why do you care?      was it not enough just to have her around?       

       it’s not long until she’s turning away from you, frustration looms in the pit of your stomach.    eyes settle in on her back, observe the way body shifted with each breath.      

         ‶  sydney - c’mon, ″       a pause, weight shifting on mattress to face her despite her current state.   legs cross and arm out stretches, encasing around her and dragging her closer to you.      ‶  i’m not trying to do that, eh?  i’m just worried. ″        more like jealous.  envious.    lips pursed, brows furrowed.    it’s followed by a sharp exhale of air.    heart pounding in chest which only tightened with each passing moment. 

             ‶  nobody is special.  everything is bullshit.  i just mean does he do the stuff we do?  ″

[borispavsky-arc]

    laugh: for your muse to laugh at something mine did.  //  @subterraenean  

       music booms over loud speaker , another house party of a person who’s name you didn’t collect.  it didn’t matter anyway, as if you’d be deviating from the people you spoke to anyway.    standing further away, a wallflower amongst a rowdy crowd ; the warmth of liquor encases your throat and soothes your insides , throwing it back as if it were water.    second nature.    russianette at your side is pulled closer , arm around her as hand settles in back pocket.  the two of you swap words, slavic tongue moving in fluency - the pair of you spilling secrets and gossip that none other would understand.    

           amusement sets in and with it soon follows laughter only loud enough for her to hear.     ‶  eto bylo khorosho. deystvitel'no smeshno, yesli vy sprosite menya. ty khochesh' vybrat'sya otsyuda? ″        [ eng. that was a good one. truly ridiculous if you ask me. you want to get out of here? ]  

[berosedy-deactivated20240115]

[borispavsky-arc]

         ‶  i like him and i want to be like him.  ″              /    @snovak   

     it strikes you like a punch to the gut , unsettling storm brewing and growing - a fight or flight response.      is it sense of abandonment or jealousy?   it wasn’t as if you’d admit the latter to yourself.    a misunderstand sense of jealousy that outwore it’s welcome  -  misplaced.       ‶  who, neil? ″     brow rose, forehead creasing ; perplexed.         it wasn’t as if you’d had the best track record, friends came and went,  some by changed circumstances and some at your own hand.     never clear boundaries often made way to unforeseen heartbreak of not just you but the others you left in your wake .   

               ‶  you like him? why? ″        she liked you, didn’t she? maybe that was worth asking that too.   falsehood of confidence would tell you it made sense she did , would tell you that you were something greater than you were.   but you’d know otherwise.     you’d always lack consistency, always lack selflessness, lack vulnerability and on occasion, honesty.      you’d never quite learned how to plant roots in one place and flourish , you would always be bloodied knuckles, empty liquor bottles and airplane tickets.   always leaving before someone could leave you.    there was a sense of self preservation if it was on your own terms.       how long before you’d lose her too?    

             ‶  why do you want to be like him, anyway? you’re cool anyway, does he even like the things we like?  ″  

[morememesforall]

word prompts compilation

complies THIS MEME // THIS MEME // THIS MEME

ADD ++ FOR REVERSE

[ attention ] for your muse to touch mine as a way of getting their attention

[ wake ] for your muse to wake mine

[ cover ]  for your muse to cover mine with a blanket or a jacket

[ lift ] for your muse to give mine a hand stepping up or over something etc.

[ kiss ]  for your muse to come up to mine and kiss them without warning

[ run ] for your muse to run their fingers through mine’s hair

[ braid ] for your muse to braid mine’s hair

[ embrace ]  for your muse to hold mine

[ smile ] for your muse to smile at mine from across the room

[ wave ] for your muse to gesture to mine to come closer

[ panic ] for your muse to grab mine’s arm or get behind them in a moment of danger

[ touch ] for your muse to rest their forehead against mine’s

[ weep ]  for your muse to catch mine crying

[ eat ] for your muse to offer mine food

[ hit ] for your muse to attack mine

[ love ] for your muse to touch mine as a show of affection or reassurance

[ nap ] for your muse to fall asleep against mine

[ rest ] for your muse to rest their head in mine’s lap

[ look ] for your muse to catch mine staring

[ seduce ] for your muse to touch mine sexually

[ help ] for your muse to lean on mine for support

[ give ] for your muse to offer mine their arm

[ entwine ] for your muse to hold mine’s hand

[ laugh ] for your muse to laugh at something mine did

[ dance ] for your muse to dance with mine

[ sit ] for your muse to pull mine into their lap

[ yell ] for your muse to calm mine down

[ cry ] for your muse to wipe mine’s tears away

[ dream ] for my muse to share dream with yours

[ nightmare ] for your muse to wake mine from a nightmare

[ surprise ] for your muse to show up at mine’s house without explanation

[ fix ] for your muse to treat mine’s injury

[ sacrifice ] for your muse to get hurt protecting mine

[ guard ] for your muse to step between my muse and danger

[ taste ] for your muse to cook for mine

[ sing ] for your muse to sing to mine 

[ goodbye ] for my muse kissing and/or hugging your muse goodbye

[ secrets ]   my  muse  sharing/confiding  a secret

[ bloody ]   for your  muse  coming  to  my  muse  with  blood  stains 

[ drunk ]   your  muse  takes  care  of my very drunk muse 

[ bed ]  my  muse wakes up in  the  same bed as your muse with little  recollection  of  the  night  before

[ scream ]   my  muse  hears  your  muse  scream  and  runs  to  them

[ trail ]   my  muse  watches  as  your  muse  traces  one  of  my  muses  scars,  asking  them  about  it

[ piggyback ]   my  muse  gives  yours  a  piggyback  ride

[ jump ]   my  muse  holding  yours  up  by  their  thighs

[ carry ]   my  muse  carries  your  muse  to  their  house

[ lighter ]   my  muse  pulls  out  a  lighter  and  lights  it  for  your  muse  to  use  to  light  their  cigarette

[ shot ] my  muse  gets  shot  and  struggles  to  your  muses for aid

[ wound ] my  muse  patches  and  bandages  a  wound  your  muse  has  gotten

[ fight ]   my  muse  stops  your  muse  from  getting  into  a  physical  fight  with  someone  else

[ arrest ]   your  muse  finds  my  muse  arrested  in  cuffs  

[ hospital ]   my  muse  awakens  in  a  hospital,  finding  your  muse  by  their  side,  asking  what  happened

[ betrayal ] my  muse  finds  out  that  your  muse  has  betrayed  them and  confronts  them  about  it

[ nude ] my  muse  walks  in  on  your  muse  accidentally  seeing  them  naked

[ karaoke ]  for our muses to sing together

[ wet ]   your muse  strips  down  to  their  under  garments  and  runs  into  the  water,  motioning  for my muse  to  join  them

[ crawl ]  for  your  muse  to  crawl  into  bed  with  mine .

[ flower ]  for  your  muse  to  offer  my  muse  their  favourite  flower

[ gift ]  for  my  muse  to  surprise  your muse  with  a  gift

[ homemade gift ]  for  my  muse  to  make  your muse  a  gift

[ bestow ] for your muse to give my muse a gift, bought or handmade ( bonus if you add what it is )

[ serenade ]  for  my  muse  to  sing  to  your  muse

[ caress ]  for  your  muse  to  gently  run  their  hand  down  my  muse’s  face

[ caught ]  for  your  muse  to  catch  my  muse  wearing  their  shirt .

[ love letter ]  for  your  muse  to  give  my  muse  a  love  letter  they  wrote  for  them

[ boop ]  for  your  muse  to  boop  my  muse  on  the  nose

[ date ]  for  my muse  to  ask  your  muse  to  go  on  a  date

[ confess ]  for my muse  to  confess  their  feelings  to  your  muse

[ sleepy ]  for  my muse  to  slowly  fall  alseep  on  your muse

[luxmemes]

RICHARD SIKEN ‘CRUSH’ MEME 

but he’s trying to kill you

your life is over anyway.

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy.

tell me we’ll never get used to it.

it’s more like a song on a policeman’s radio. 

tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake.

there are so many things i’m not allowed to tell you.

the world is no longer mysterious. 

it’s thinking of stabbing us to death.

i like him and i want to be like him. 

someone once told me that explaining is an admission of failure.

history repeats itself.

i wanted to take him home.

i was finding myself sleepless and he was running out of lullabies.

there isn’t anything sexier than a slender boy with a handgun, a fast car, a bottle of pills.

i’d like my money’s worth.

sorry about the blood in your mouth, i wish it was mine. 

i wore his jacket for the longest time. 

i want to tell you this story without having to confess anything.

tell me we’re dead and i’ll love you even more.

who am i? i’m just a writer. i write things down. 

you want a better story, who wouldn’t?

quit milling around the yard and come inside.

and no one can ever figure out what you want and you won’t tell them.

you don’t trust him to love you in a way you would enjoy.

you take the things you love and tear them apart. 

i said kiss me here and here and here and you did.

these are the dreams we should be having. 

i don’t think i can take this much longer.

i carried you to the car and drove you home but you weren’t making any sense.

i went to the riverbed to wait for you to show up. you didn’t show up. i kept waiting. 

you want to die for love, you always have.

you’re going to die in your best friend’s arms. 

someone’s pulling a gun and you’re jumping in the middle of it. 

if you love me, you don’t love me in a way i understand.

there’s a bottle of whiskey in the trunk of the chevy and a dead man at our feet.

please, just for one night, will you lie down next to me?

you say ‘i’ll give you anything’ but you never come through.

you keep singing along to the song i hate. stop singing.

you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for.

you’re trying not to tell him that you love him.