� gravity always wins � 2007-12-06 � 10:26 p.m. �
This day always brings tears and anxiety... and a reel of memories I neither cherish nor abhor.
At the back of the theatre I can hear the soft moan of Thom Yorke coaking me to believe you were only ever polystyrene...
I'm worn out.
I see your soul shadowed in strangers on the street... I feel your touch on my cheek when the house is asleep... I can hear your voice in the crackle between MP3s... and I think for a moment, yes, this is how it was meant to be.
Baby, baby, baby....
You would hate this world...
You'd might even hate me.
Maybe, Baby, that's why we're not here anymore.
� previous � next � comments � diaryland � old �