I like the wind coming in through the window at the side of my table, it’s nice. It’s a perfect place to have wind come from.
It helps dry my hair when I don’t want the electric fan to blow all my hair to one side. I really look weird after, and because of that I only get to do it before I sleep. Which is nice, who says you need wax to style hair?
It’s a breeze that’s just right, not too strong but still makes your metals rust and your wood rot. But I like the way it dries my hair.
And then the rain comes.
Every time I get a blister or something like that where there’s this liquid under my skin and it’s swelling and I can’t squeeze it out I just feel like taking a needle and piercing through that layer of skin and watching it ooze out like a lazy person getting out of bed.
Don’t you?
Mmmmm.
Third Eye Blind: wonderful, wonderful music. Timeless, catchy, and drug induced, I’m assuming – but beautiful. It makes me want to go to that really nice place that they get to go to. I’m living in a mirror, they get to be holograms.
The sky was gold, it was rose
I was taking sips of it through my nose
And I wish I could get back there
Someplace back there, in the place we used to start
How do you put everything in words, when words seem to have been stuck somewhere while travelling from your intestines to your brain?Words come from the books you eat.
Now how about going through an entire spectrum of emoticons within a split second? Or maybe putting yourself up at some temperate country when you’re from the tropics, that could be it. You may need a hell of a wardrobe to adjust to the weather there, but it’s all worth it because you get to enjoy snow.
Snow, so different from taking Styrofoam boxes apart.
Snow, coming from someone who gets sick all the time here, yet rarely where it’s cold in the nights and early mornings. Maybe she’s allergic to Styrofoam, maybe it’s the never ending hail of dust bunnies in my room that I carry out with me. Whatever it is, she sure is cute when she’s got that oddly-pitched voice when she’s down with something.
Maybe it’s the sand across the road from her place, maybe it’s the room that never gets its air changed – that could be it.
I should suck a lungful of air before I enter the room every time, it’ll either help or worsen things. No harm trying, though – no harm for me anyway. My breath is therapeutic(humour me on this one).
I like it when it snows, here. It makes me want it to snow for a long, long time.