ph: devina
dream. reality.traces. missing steps. stories. i felt like floating on a personal wonderland, writing down about the personal wonderland, getting lost in there, just praying. this city. the people. smoke. cigarette butts. gypsy jazz. all i wanted was to avoid confusion and get on with life. this life.
i was probably missing something, searching something, an absolution, a truth, an echo. that would be just one of those nights. i couldn't stop thinking about you, i wanted to say. tell him. the truth. if i were to write a book, it'd be titled if i were anais.
he could be my henry
