It's a lament, but not for lost love.
I'm sitting with my back against the wall, sitting on the faded, weary, orange brown carpet of a rented apartment. It's an empty apartment. I've let myself in with a key I’ll leave behind when I’ve gathered the last of my possessions.
It's a lament,
But not for lost love, rather for the thrilling sweetness of new love that too quickly becomes faded, weary, like the orange brown carpet of a rented apartment.
It's a lament.
Parkstreet
1 comment:
😢
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