|devon, england. december 2011|
i sometimes think that maybe the road is like a lover from the ages past, with their touch so familiar to the skin and their voice constantly echoing in the head. i would come back to this affair every now and then, like i would come back to everything i can't let go of. and she's always there, waiting at the stations with a sad smile on her mouth, dressed in crimson and clouds, with rivers and forests buried inside. she knows my heart like nobody else does, and her wretched hands hold mine when i softly forget everything.
i'm glad you've been there for me, lying next to me in a dark room and doing nothing but listening.
sometimes it's just enough. especially right now.