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Cool white sheets. Blue sunshine filtering through my hand learning your skin. Dreaming of angels. Empty shadows on quiet streets. The city breathes in, grass blades quiver. A drumming echo. The hasty steps of belatedness. I shift my hand. The faucets, dripping. The sunrise pulling your skin into alps, but you’re not cold. A high-rise drips its concrete breath. The sky breaks. Exhale and return.
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Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 8:00 AM UTC
And the end comes to soon, like dreaming of angels.
Cool white sheets. Blue sunshine filtering through my hand learning your skin. Dreaming of angels. Empty shadows on quiet streets. The city breathes in, grass blades quiver. A drumming echo. The hasty steps of belatedness. I shift my hand. The faucets, dripping. The sunrise pulling your skin into alps, but you’re not cold. A high-rise drips its concrete breath. The sky breaks. Exhale and return.
I wanted to capture the feeling that the song gave me. It feels so simple and pure, but tinged with melancholy and some kind of hopeless hopefulness. It feels like walking an Autumn afternoon in a deserted city street.
prince-of-spring
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Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 8:00 AM UTC
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