novembre

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taciturn

almost literal. i can feel your hand pressing lightly. that lost feeling lodged right beside your memory.

landing gear tucked neatly inside, i am taking off. over the sea.

dear circumstance,
what?
love,
confused heart

dear button what sticks,
get over it.
love,
bitter heart

dear old man swaying like a brittle pine,
i never know what to say to you.

by the way, it is finally spring. enter thaw.

i'll land soon. promise.

1:37 pm - 03.08.04

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