There is dust in the third row of Ms. Buskee's Book Shop, accompanied
by two ghosts. These are the places we never cared to remember our happiness by.
A place where we were only happy, and never thought to keep it as a memory that
couldn't ever be turned to the bloodied fists we hold now. We are dancing here to a song from the sixties that you know the lyrics to, and I'm wearing my favorite dress.
Maybe this was why it's my favorite dress. We are in love. We are happy. These ghosts are oblivious to what we are now. They are only here to keep our old memories alive, and to keep replaying a part of us that was once angelic. They will never know, or even want to know, that we are just a stray memory no one wants to remember.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 9:45 PM UTC
There is dust in the third row of Ms. Buskee's Book Shop, accompanied
by two ghosts. These are the places we never cared to remember our happiness by.
A place where we were only happy, and never thought to keep it as a memory that
couldn't ever be turned to the bloodied fists we hold now. We are dancing here to a song from the sixties that you know the lyrics to, and I'm wearing my favorite dress.
Maybe this was why it's my favorite dress. We are in love. We are happy. These ghosts are oblivious to what we are now. They are only here to keep our old memories alive, and to keep replaying a part of us that was once angelic. They will never know, or even want to know, that we are just a stray memory no one wants to remember.
