Awake in mo(u)rning.
I miss November. Those nights when I said what I meant, but still could’ve said more. The kisses that probably meant nothing to you & your bony fingers that were so welcoming. Green sweater, front seat, my best gay’s sidewalk. Why do I feel like I waste not, but not that I want not? I want to be OK, good enough.
5 months ago • 0 notes