Mornings
With the air smelling like fabric softener, the ceilings remind me of our old house back home i always feel a very strong sense of nostalgia everytime i’m here. The sunlight creeping in, the sweat on my back, the wind converts as a blanket on my skin. This is about it. These mornings, these moments are limited. We are limited. His body is as hot as mine, burning up into figures that piece each other up forming an abyss of nothingness. the gory bits of you and the gory bits of me.
