no expectations.

growing up they don’t tell us about the silence you’ll live inside of

i touch my stones and pray for an angel to come down from up above.

it was you, and it will always be you who trembles at the sight of Death–

beneath the heavy stoops of a rocky staircase i sit by the bare water. everyone is outside today. even when it’s cold and muggy the world moves and people are kissing a lot.

life is not miserable,

what kills me is knowing i opened my soul and was deemed disgusting. no one really sees me for who i am.

now let me be fucking sad until that one morning i wake up in optimal breath and fresh skies peeking from the blinds.

smiling because i am me, and the journey is back where it should be.

do you speak code? no. thats okay. then just make up your own meaning to these words and create a vision.

make up your own story and i’ll live in mine.

along the broken ridges of a surfaced temple awaits my answer, soon to be on a flight to me.

and i wait, but i do not expect.

jean basquait


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