The first time I heard my father’s voice, it was crisp and clear, the absence, when the call dropped.
The spirits of symphoric construction are amongst us in weightless decay, Holding the rhythm of a salutation to the moon when passed by the tentatively unaware, Masses suffocated by waves trying to evade craters that are better held by the sun, In a time so long ago. Present in the space of what’s not, Displaying everything that is, For them, When they used to be. Fragments of hearts...
llanakila asked: <3
retro2go-deactivated20120731 asked: 2003 :[ oh thats well proper yeah