is it getting better?
i rotate my left foot slowly in counter-clockwise circles, creating a plethora of minor noises with the bones in my feet. my marmee, draped across a couch the colour of mud, laughs and says i sound like her.
"i feel old sometimes." i tell her. but that doesn't quite capture what i'm trying to say.
my mind has been burned with the stolen idea of a petrol sky. i imagine flames and that shine of iridescence around the edges before the fire consumes even more and that intoxicating, thrilling and absolutely terrifying smell that large fires produce.
today i will be lost in my mind.