3.11.18 | the lonely hour
Do you ever have a lonely hour?
The hour in which, whether it be day or night, it feels like you're the only soul awake and alive and here?
Right now it's the hour where paranoia races through my bloodstream, instilling fear at every creak and croak naturally occurring.
It is the hour where late-night nostalgia wraps itself around me, its hand gripping my neck and holding me down, forcing me to feel.
Photos from a disposable camera, beautiful in their flaws and lack of focus, in the streaks of light whisping across them. They feel like they were taken in an entirely different life and if only I could transport myself into those photos just to feel the fleeting seconds of the camera's capturing.
I feel weak and vulnerable and sad and I hate admitting the need for someone to hold me and whisper into the top of my head that everything will be okay, even if I do not believe it.
Right now I want you here with me, even if that is not possible for this lonely hour.
The hour in which, whether it be day or night, it feels like you're the only soul awake and alive and here?
Right now it's the hour where paranoia races through my bloodstream, instilling fear at every creak and croak naturally occurring.
It is the hour where late-night nostalgia wraps itself around me, its hand gripping my neck and holding me down, forcing me to feel.
Photos from a disposable camera, beautiful in their flaws and lack of focus, in the streaks of light whisping across them. They feel like they were taken in an entirely different life and if only I could transport myself into those photos just to feel the fleeting seconds of the camera's capturing.
I feel weak and vulnerable and sad and I hate admitting the need for someone to hold me and whisper into the top of my head that everything will be okay, even if I do not believe it.
Right now I want you here with me, even if that is not possible for this lonely hour.
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