maybe we just ain’t meant to be something / maybe we are

Autumnal air, shrouded views. I look down below from the seventeenth floor, the wind biting harder than it was yesterday morning. Rosy cheeks, Lolita lips. This state of longing consumed the better half of my night. Conversations across the Pacific that bleed into a sorrowed happiness forever molding the base of my being,

They say America is dying from loneliness — and for a moment there, so was I.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s