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just a writing blurb

it’s fall in the city and the fog hangs by clothespins along the building edges, leaves turning toward the burnished amber of october. it’s like this a lot, september: somewhere in between, not cold and not warm, never fully committing and never making up it’s mind. 

maybe it’s fall or maybe it’s me but that unsteadiness is a painful reminder of where i stand. those mornings find me weary, condensation clinging to the curls along my jaw as i work up the courage to say your name, to imagine a very palpable future where i claw my way toward a dream i can’t possibly forget.

the rain fell again this morning and with it came a feeling i’d hope to dissolve. maybe someday i’ll be able to separate the city and the rain and you but for now it’s all the same, and soon it’ll be too much to bear. but it’s fall and the fog clings comfortably and maybe i can too, hanging on until i find my footing. 

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Sam Smith | Latch (Acoustic)

"you enchant me even when you’re not around."

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be the blanket for my bones…be the place that i call home
― patrick watson, slip into your skin
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