The Things We Want Most
Unfold like strange shadows, like spilled ink which can’t be caught, only set free. Racy, edgy, always saying goodbye. Remember that time when the cold dawn was wolf-like and you worried that if you let go you might disappear? On the cusp of passing, leaving behind a thousand mistakes, something is unforgettable … the water’s edge, a girl, the death of dreams. You paint your skin until it bleeds and in the morning wake to the sound of birds.