| can't have it all, now can we? |


impressionismI always have thought of impressionism as the screeching ring in your ears during a stretch upon wakingimpressionism
the faded yellow orange of brick buildings and light upon trees in early morning, or late sunset
teaching ourselves to read, the sounding of vowels
slow processes winding themselves out.
I've lived too well.
the screeching ring of a good stretch upon waking makes one feel complete


head love life and other linesyour hands. fingers knotted like wood, joints cracking, you're an expert. your hands... so familiar know the pressure, know the paper feeling the color they turn in winter nails dull. palm to cheek, your hands say you love mehead love life and other lines
more than this.
[palm to throat]
his hands. bigger, browner, knuckle scars nervous near his mouth. his hands... alarming there's possibility in length of fingers, soft skin but unfamiliar. palm to waist? his hands stay quiet too unsure, uncomfortable to speak.
[palm to temple
--
Borta, vida borta.
--
Borta, vida borta.
--
Ich war allein in der Wüste, über mir flogen die Geier, und alle Wetten standen gegen mich. Ich war der totgesagte!
Benedict Wells-Spinner
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