maybe you and I are cursed;
maybe you and I are one.
―Third Eye Blind
Fleeting grotesque flowers conjure up the moon. Someone screams from behind the shelter, Just like I am.
In the wee hours of the dawn, he's gazing at the sky. But he seeks not lost constellations, instead of answers in the form of ghosts.
October 14, 2010; October 15, 2010
