between slight day and night.

in, the morning. in, red shift. a semi pre-wash of  mishaps and late night words. delivered from a city 400 miles away. 

jeff buckley has been an obsession of mine for the last 2 years, but within the last few weeks, i have been insanely withdrawn from any other music...

my ears seem to want to huddle inside his voice. 

i'll stay here for a while, i guess.

in the morning (in your chest) (in your chest) (in your chest)...

there are strangers in my bed and family in my head. hesitant to wake up from my dream just yet, but my alarm clock went off 3 times this morning, so the characters vanished as soon as i woke.

pretending to be over with before it has begun, today will be a lot easier than the last 2 days.

i wonder, 

if any more science can be fucked with. there are years hidden here, in the small pockets of face. below the eyelids are carnivals of space. 

a whole agenda hidden in her hair. 

his 

her

their

our

mine

we

all.

i think i am delerious this morning. 

hither to wake, befriend a notion that is finally your own.