i said
that i would never be like this. that i would never just lie in bed, with music playing, listening exploring, thinking. remember when we could never see ourselves doing this? yet here we are adam hurst/to a darkening sky plays in our earphones, its 12.58am. im lying on the double bed, surrounded by cheesecake, soft lighting , the end of a candle and the familiar aching of a stomach thats been filled past its comfort. as you, i, we realise that these writings are not really for anyone but us. do you still love sad music as much as i do? lying here so relaxed and nonchalont in a smelly tshirt and a ripped pair of day 2 underpants. do you fall in love with me all over again reading and writing, reading to me, writing to you. it really is just us here. you could admit anything to me do you know that? a little hole in the world for your complete honesty. did i just write that? i question myself? then why do i think i hate myself so much?
