i’ve tried counting every freckle on your back. but i always get lost in the curve down your spine. if i could, i would erase every single one of them. as if each freckle was a bad memory i could take from your mind and swallow them chased with whiskey. i’d turn you back into something so pure. like a blank canvas untouched by my clumsy brush. or a blank vhs tape that isn’t filled with distant memories. you could be as pure as the blue sky over some sad midwest town. not these grey, factory clouds over new york city. i’d turn you back into the idea that there’s a universe within our bodies. rather than my smoke filled lungs and offbeat heart. but for now i’ll still try falling in love with the world through all the little things like sunsets and empty bars, heavy rain and pale sunsets, all the oxygen in my lungs and those tiny veins on the back of your eyelids.
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