QU'EST QUE C'EST?

It is quiet here, but it’s a humming sort of silence falls like dust on the wooden floorboards. This is what hotel rooms sound like when no one is there — foreign and cold and unreal, but in good ways, only the best ways. When he’s not here I start to miss him, but he is all over the place in pieces, in loose strands of hair and handwritten notes and forgotten keys by the bedside table. Right now it is raining but sunny, a contradiction to the senses. It sounds harsh and cold but the room is glowing with a summer’s shade of yellow and I feel like a lonely character in a children’s book from the nineties I used to read when I was little. Certain rooms in this house still smell new, even though I know he’s lived here for a while. It’s the wood, I think, but it makes me miss home. He’s finished work and is buying food to last us the rest of the week and I’m sitting here waiting with his sleeping puppy breathing silently next to me. Tonight I’ll meet his friends and tomorrow we’ll do this all over again.

“Remembering is good but sometimes forgetting is better. It’s okay to forget. You can’t hold onto everything. Things will get better, so stop being such a starky bitch and let it go.”

childovelove:

flowers blosom

babys and nimals

get born and

it is warm

it rains. But

we dont care

because we

have umbrellas