The Start

Polaroids

The taste in your mouth for the last time. Then silence, the hours that go by slowly, the winding nights. Eyes lost in the milky way chasing memories. In the tail of a cold comet, with arms stretched out;the heavens suggest words unsaid, phrases unheard. Should we never meet again, this is the music we listen to until we bleed. With our walkmen, across people who will never know. Hoping not to belong to anything but distance, to solitary paths, to the city that sleeps, to ghosts of the past.

Not Mine