dreaming

21 Jun 2013



It rained for days. The mist hung low over the backyards so much that we breathed it in and out like smoke and we walked around like a passion burned inside of us, but really the gloominess of mid-july enveloped us all in it's sticky grey arms and held us tight, fogging our minds. Apathy installed a lull that no amount of dancing could shake. Days of strawberry lollies with no heat to melt them and midday light with no shadows.

It seemed like the world was dreaming, that the tides had pulled us into an endless sleep with infinite skies and hearts that beat the rhythm of the songs that played to our ears alone while slowly the grass grew.

It was the summer of no sleep. No sleep and no dreams. A summer of 3am sounds and hours of the kind of silence that isn't really silent at all but instead hums, like static and whispers but quieter still. Pages turning under lamplight, papercuts, Elliott singing "drink up baby, look at the stars", thinking. Me and an old radio and the traffic in the night.

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