Saturday, April 26, 2014

to me

In the dark of night, as the rain lightly sprinkles on the tin roof above, I want to talk to him.  But he's stopped listening.  I told him it was my favourite sound, and now it's spoiled.  Each pit-pat, pit-pat thuds my sodden hopes and reminds me of the void.  I hate boys.

Except Chet Faker.  I love Chet Faker.

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