CAUTION: This hasn't even been read. I sat and I wrote it, on a napkin. I haven't had inspiration for weeks and then I wrote this. Saved for posterity.
Today, when the ocean and the California salt air were perfect, he played his guitar and I did handstands, leaned my heels into the door. We were alive. I looked at him and laughed and the ocean saw and crashed, like every other syncopated day day through which we lived or maybe died. I look through lens and on screens and in darkrooms - were living days of handstands and tanktops. I knew someday I would hear Pacific crashing waves and I would grab at empty space, chasing ghosts of days like today. Saved for posterity.
Tonight is realizing and remembering and recording.
Today, when the ocean and the California salt air were perfect, he played his guitar and I did handstands, leaned my heels into the door. We were alive. I looked at him and laughed and the ocean saw and crashed, like every other syncopated day day through which we lived or maybe died. I look through lens and on screens and in darkrooms - were living days of handstands and tanktops. I knew someday I would hear Pacific crashing waves and I would grab at empty space, chasing ghosts of days like today. Saved for posterity.
Tonight is realizing and remembering and recording.
VIEW 21 of 21 COMMENTS
capitalistfig:
Hey J-money! Are you going tomorrow night? Holla back yo!
whirlyknives:
nice.