Song For The Weekend

The afternoon air is comfortably crisp here in Brooklyn. I get to wear my big purple sweater outside on my balcony as I sip my tea but it’s not enough.  I should feel comforted but I don’t. I quietly avoid transforming my mess of thoughts into words of hope, regret or even numbness. I try to call Odette but she’s not there. Maybe crying could help.

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This entry was posted in Astrid's posts, Brooklyn, love, Music. Bookmark the permalink.

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