And with the first showers
Comes the kind of sadness
Which only half loved lovers
Can feel.

Love is the consequence of you

writers block;
sometimes pain
can’t be written.

she smelled wonderfully sad,
the salt from her tears and the floral scent of her hair
somehow combined into a heavenly aroma i couldn't get out of my nose,
that reminded me of spring depression,
*as if i were collapsing in a field of wildflowers next to the ocean.

i'm sleeping on spilled coca-cola
throbbing headache
thinking of your boxer/briefs
and thinking of the lake
sometimes life is so ******* cool it makes me want to stay for a bit

I hope you're writing something useful.
Wherever you ended up.