sitting against a wall we began to talk and found the nicest hour of the day.

. two categories i know exactly, he says, the human brain and the heart. And the light strikes at some flawed parody of himself when it's getting late but it is nice to see someone so raw. i believe this is a way to be recognised.

his melancholy all mist, drizzle, a haze in a grey shimmering state of hate; those visions you can't stop.

. somehow i went a bit too far, at least this is the way it feels like after i surface half a year later. seasons have changed.

finally, a past coded in memeories fading out in the darkness, disappearing.