soft

Places change the way we write, and feel. I’ve felt nothing for a long time, and that was a choice. It’s a choice to be soft, too. I want to be soft right now. The air bnb bed feels soft, even though I won’t have it for much longer. I’m imprinting on this little room, on its shadows and its sounds. I can hear crickets outside the screened window that’s half open. Los Angeles, I never really gave you a chance. Now I don’t have a choice, we’re stuck together - because I can’t leave them, they have my whole heart and I’ll die without them being a few miles from me.

I want to be with someone soft, I want to feel soft, I want to feel soft right now. Maybe its this serif substack font - the shift from typing tiny comic sans into my phone in the dark, into a screenshot - squeezing myself into a bottle and posting micro notes into an instagram story. there’s a different feeling to this. Maybe it’s because I’m not holding my phone, maybe it’s because my life is unrecognizable to what it was this time last month.

I don’t know the rules to this yet, I don’t have any rules. I imagine you here, curled and soft on a pillow - stormy hair covering your shoulders, face towards the wall - quiet. I’ve always been someone who loves to kiss, kiss for too long, not fucking, just red mouthed, dry lips - the kissing for too long breath, sore faces. Most memories like that are kissing till dawn memories, they’re all soft to me.

Sucking on your own tongue again right now, aren’t you?