When you and your friend notice you’re about to be late for class….
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl year after year.
Sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whiskey and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested.
— Hunter S. Thompson (via shelovesyou-ya)
Maybe people eternally do certain things in specific places.
Little orbs beyond our realms of sight, where space and time are delicately sewn, that encompass a certain action or event.
Where, just yesterday, I looked at the ground and noticed a glint in the dirt, I saw someone today stoop over to pick up an abandoned fork.
Where I saw that guy chasing his essay, as the papers escaped from his hands on the wind’s tide last week, I found a fluttered and torn newspaper.
I watched a man lean over his lover, tenderly tracing her hair behind her ear, on the corner of Partridge and Western.
Today, I swipe my bangs back as my love steps off of the bus and kisses me, my face in the safe cage of his fingertips.
Little orbs that say, “Here and now, you will do as I command.”
A boy falls asleep on the bus.
Later that night, a hobo’s eyes are closed in his seat.
I cannot tell if he’s dead or alive.
Little orbs that mean there was one before you, and there will be one after.
A bookmark in this crazy dimension.