Sweet end of week nothing, how beautiful and still, how false. Spanish time feels like a sleepy mirage, slow swimming to sudden places, the days feel infinite, the weeks as short as hours. I am the most comfortable misfit, at home in the white sheets and cobbled streets, yet strange as black sand, lost as a fish in the sky.
Something in the heat is glazing over my baby pink skin, my raw flesh, I feel that softness of home without a structure to place it in. Home is a dust in the air, laying all around my skin. I feel the softness of home settle across my own shoulders, coat my body, penetrate my veins.
Something in the heat is glazing over my baby pink skin, my raw flesh, I feel that softness of home without a structure to place it in. Home is a dust in the air, laying all around my skin. I feel the softness of home settle across my own shoulders, coat my body, penetrate my veins.
I posted before but it doesn't show. What I said?
ReplyDeleteBeautiful...