I’ve wondered what music feels like to normal hearts, but before long I just settle into the silence. (she slides across my skin like a spring breeze, her words grasp hard and i never want them to let me go) As a three am ache hits me, I realize we simply weren’t meant to survive some days. (there is a fatalism in holding her, a sense that life is fleeting as we die together in increments, two stars falling) My melancholy is not a trickling stream it’s a mother fucking flood and extinguishes all of my tenuous connections. (i drown in her elegance that she calls clumsiness, soaking in every ounce of the wonder she exudes) My amber is your saving grace. (my amethyst is alive in your smile)
EC is poetic perfection.