05/01/26

floaty and sick

thinking about S, when he came over in the morning yesterday he smelled so clean like clothes that have just been washed and then dried in the hot sun

I cried a little and he was patient, everything feeling so backwards and futile

the only things that exist are the middle, the in-between, the almost, the maybe, no beginnings no endings, pls don’t forget about that (this is a note to myself)

beauty of attempting

I want to be back on the bank of the canal drinking Starbucks white mocha