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the bed is still empty even when your body’s in it, my dear little ghost. starlight is the only thing that makes you real and on cloudy nights you stand under streetlamps, waiting for the light to spark something in your veins. there’s someone watching from the window of the fourth house down, thinks of you like one would a favourite song forgotten; words missing but melody still trailing off lips, humming softly. there is always a special kind of intimacy between strangers, a kind of temporary that i can stomach; blur in the corner of photographs, coffee rings on used tables.
leather jackets hanging off shoulders, shoelaces untied — you stumble just to feel the ground under your feet, go out in hopes of being un/seen. there’s that silence after the subway train you’ve just missed passes right by you, standing at the edge of the platform and dipping your head into the dark tunnel, waiting to see what will stare back at you. my little poltergeist, come back to me — i’ve bought all the glass vases from the thrift store and i’ve lined them up for you to break as you please. sing for me and i promise i’ll cut my fingers on all the edges when we get around to the cleaning.
✨ send me your favorite flower emoji and i will describe the aesthetic that you give off! ✨