september the first
12:50 a.m.
and come september, I will remember all of my happy times with you
It's strange to look around this city and know that soon it will all be familiar and home. I've spent lots of time here, but as a tourist, a squatter in hostels and on bedroom floors, and now I will have my special spots and grocery stores and phoneboxes. I know where I'll sit when I write my first letter this month, and I hope that the beauty around me will somehow make it onto the page. Oh, here we go. No, no, I won't always be this. It does seize me by the throat (by the gut) sometimes, but I won't always be this. Because there will be evolution and there will be hope. (evolution of us, and the strong, strong hope that we are growing upwards.) and as the years go by
I'll think of you and sigh
this is goodnight, but not goodbye
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