Dusk, summer, cool breeze after a hot day. Listening to October Rust by candlelight. Feeling nostalgic but happy, content. Writing a lot, mainly in fountain pen with black ink. I wish I could find all of those pages again. Must search, I am sure they are amongst my stacks of papers somewhere.
I would like to find that me again, dangling myself in a world of dark happiness, drenched in questions... Staying up until dawn, writing, talking, walking, questioning. Where did you go? What happened?
Music and words bring everything back together again.
"You tell yourself it's love, then tear yourself apart" Windows, BRMC