Out on the balcony. Out from the party. Thats where you’ll find me. Out on the Balcony, chatting up the girls who’d rather smoke than talk. Out there in the frigid winter air, the warm summer nights, and the damp spring evenings, out there is where you’ll find me. talking to the girls whose sadness lies just beneath what everyone sees. Just beyond what everyone believes to be true. This is when they’re open. When they’re smoking out on the balcony with a stranger to breathe with. they stare outward, looking at nothing, intently searching for something. Out on the balcony.
Tag Archives: Writing
The past is so much softer. Like a dream you’re just beginning to forget. A world made of clouds and softness. Its so much easier to live when you know what good parts to live to fullest and the worse ones to change. The past was so much better because you weren’t thinking about yesterday.
I’ll be the one that collects things
you be the one that does things.
I’ll be the one that remembers everything
and you can be the one that forgets it all.
I’ll stand in the distance thinking of you
while you try to place my face.
The memory of you will stop me in cold daylight
And you’ll greet me with such cheer
then forget me just as easily.
Death came to me once. she was dressed in black with eyes as wide as the moon, milky black pools that covered most of her face.
Death came to me once and said “you’re not good enough”.
So I live on.