like how does it arrive – so suddenly, on a bike at 10pm on the second to last night of August? Standing under a streetlight in the middle of the road. Walking next to me in a town I once lived in, down a road I once lived on. How does it creep up on me in the soft silver morning light, in the velvet river I always swam alone in? How does it not just skim the water, but go deep beneath the surface, as I watch without realising? How does it not just hit you, but instead slowly, steadily seeps into you?
Everything I Don't Know About Love
Everything I Don't Know About Love
Everything I Don't Know About Love
like how does it arrive – so suddenly, on a bike at 10pm on the second to last night of August? Standing under a streetlight in the middle of the road. Walking next to me in a town I once lived in, down a road I once lived on. How does it creep up on me in the soft silver morning light, in the velvet river I always swam alone in? How does it not just skim the water, but go deep beneath the surface, as I watch without realising? How does it not just hit you, but instead slowly, steadily seeps into you?