jean jackets and suede shoes. notes on paper, the rhythm is the sound of some voice that I don't know anymore. seeing through glass doors, reading the words on skin like pages from a book from many years back. with every turn that feeling goes and grows, maybe promise me something that isn't in between the lines, that I don't hide behind my hair or cross the street a block early, because I know every step closer only means two steps farther.
jean jackets and suede shoes; khj











