How else could you survive and still be halfway satisfied? We’ve seen pictures of pink beaches, we have browsed through Russian brides, and we work all day serving strangers – there’s probably not much danger in a walk behind the building or a miscount of the stock – every now and again (only when we’d swear to god the clock is only fucking with us, sloth-like, sometimes barely even breathing). It’s hard to know how truly small your decades of just being here look piled altogether, pushed aside and then forgotten. So we swallow antiseptic, trade the little things we bought and text our lovers about later – if there’s time – or if there’s not.


~ by perfectionatrix on September 28, 2013.

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