Blog Name

A short description introducing your blog so visitors know what type of posts they will find here.

Tonight I thought about thinking about Albert Camus. I don’t know how to articulate what it feels like. The act

The boy sat on the floor, a cloud of smoke surrounding him emotionally and physically, his dreams flowed out of

I guess the main thing that bothers me is the memories that we didn’t get to make, that we will

Golden light streamed in through the window, the twang of a guitar. He sat with the instrument on his lap,

She painted her face with make up, putting on the mask that she had become used to wearing through years

He was tethered, or at least he believed himself to be. She wasn’t free either. Parts of them stuck to

The boy sat on the floor, a cloud of smoke surrounding him emotionally and physically, his dreams flowed out of

I guess the main thing that bothers me is the memories that we didn’t get to make, that we will

Golden light streamed in through the window, the twang of a guitar. He sat with the instrument on his lap,

She painted her face with make up, putting on the mask that she had become used to wearing through years

He was tethered, or at least he believed himself to be. She wasn’t free either. Parts of them stuck to

They stood one day, hand in hand between two white buildings. By the time she told him that she loved

Sometimes when they fucked, he imagined that he was a great machine, a turbine, as was she. Made to work

There was a part of him that was deceased, bits of him he had left behind strung out on the

He would listen to music and draw themes out, he would try to tell her about them, sometimes he thought

They had lost this and returned to their lives, this was a brief sojourn from the harshness of reality. The

Join our newsletter to stay updated