tessteapot
Long is the road to the place where I began
Where there is roughness like the skin of a unshaven man
Or like the rocks that cut my feet that day by the beach
A highway
A road
A journey
To the centre
If this word were ever brought into existence, as I fear that it might, oh what triviality and shallow values shall be associated with it, whether intentional or not. Such a beautiful word with beautiful connotations yet it would be twisted by humanity into something lacking worth.
Well isn't that the perfect word for the day after engaging in a conversation with my boyfriend about how pretentious he thinks I am. You know, I don't see anything wrong with liking the finer things in life and I'm not going to apologise for it. I'm classy goddammit. Not pretentious.
What do I know about music? Almost nothing apart from the bands that I listen to, which people tell me is either too upbeat or simple. Yet, I went to his house and we talked about cellos. We drank wine and talked about guitar. And then we did something we shouldn't have which ruined our friendship. At least I don't miss you. That's the great part.
A hard fast trip to the edge of the road that falls into a pit of shame, despair and pain.
This is what she told me I'd find out here and I didn't believe her.
I do now.
Taking a puff from my cigarette, I flick the ash into the wind and consider my next move