if there was a clock that could stop time on the last moment of happiness then i am 18
the air is thick with summer and promise
there is a warm night holding hands with naivety, a summer breeze that kisses you but only when no one is looking
i am the weightlessness of letting go
the feeling of pavement beneath your feet as the air rasps in your chest breaking you into new skin
the buzzing of bees as honey drips down your legs
a sweetness that is pure yet undeserving
eighteen is quiet and hot and nearly forgotten
- this is how i remember you
crying in the dark at your best friends party
‘Here is the repeated image of the lover destroyed.’
2020, a summary
(via villainworldwide)