Sunday, March 14


I wake up around five for my early-morning cigarette, and the rain is coming down softly, softly. I stand on the porch, getting wet and wishing I was a photographer. The natural beauty of the rain paired with the ugliness of this little fire in my hands makes for interesting symbolism. Afterwards it's just routine -- brush my teeth, climb back in bed with E for my early-morning love -- but for that moment I was part of the universe, part of something real. The rain, the stars, the barely-pink tinge on the horizon, lips blowing smoke into the night: a rare simplicity not many people have the priviledge of.

I miss Mayberry
Sitting on the porch drinking ice-cold cherry coke
Where everything is black and white
...People pass by and you call them by their first name
Watching the clouds roll by

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