"I wish in the city of your heart you would let me be the street where you walk when you are most yourself. I imagine the houses: It has been raining, but the rain is done and the children kept home have begun opening their doors."
//Robley Wilson
I'm not done with the week yet. There are so many more things that need to be done. Like sitting in a coffee house with my books for hours on end, like listening to acoustic guitars and gravelly voices in dark, quiet spots with best friends and amazing food, like going for a night drive with my ipod for miles and miles to stretch until I wind up alongside the beach front in the early morning. But still, I loved the moments that I had to spare. The moments when I discovered chaos, uncertainty and quarks and realised the immense possibility of this world, the moments when we winded up having ice-cream talking of the things we had not yet left behind, the moments where we shrieked our hearts out in the absolute neurotic mess of a psycho-ballet film.
704 odd days before we move on again. I can't bear to let go, just yet.
"I wish in the city of your heart you would let me be the street where you walk when you are most yourself. I imagine the houses: It has been raining, but the rain is done and the children kept home have begun opening their doors."
//Robley Wilson
I'm not done with the week yet. There are so many more things that need to be done. Like sitting in a coffee house with my books for hours on end, like listening to acoustic guitars and gravelly voices in dark, quiet spots with best friends and amazing food, like going for a night drive with my ipod for miles and miles to stretch until I wind up alongside the beach front in the early morning. But still, I loved the moments that I had to spare. The moments when I discovered chaos, uncertainty and quarks and realised the immense possibility of this world, the moments when we winded up having ice-cream talking of the things we had not yet left behind, the moments where we shrieked our hearts out in the absolute neurotic mess of a psycho-ballet film.
704 odd days before we move on again. I can't bear to let go, just yet.
