“I will remember your small room, the feel of you, the light in the window, your records, your books, our morning coffee, our noons, our nights, our bodies spilled together, sleeping, the tiny flowing currents, immediate and forever. Your leg, my leg, your arm, my arm, your smile and the warmth of you who made me laugh again.”
—Charles Bukowski
i was in the middle of a dream about you last night, we were walking down the street, it was raining and we were laughing, “why does this always happen to us?” you asked me. “Im not sure, but i dont hate it, its warm.” At that moment i woke up from a loud crash and tried to focus on what had happened. I looked down on the floor by my closet and it was littered with 100 bar napkin notes and a modeling card. Im gonna go out on a limb and say thats a sign…
“I will remember your small room, the feel of you, the light in the window, your records, your books, our morning...