alone in bed, heavy sleep-soaked breaths, his knee raised up in the sheet like his body is about to set sail. a bed is just a frame for blankets. he is all things we come home for. there are no reasons, no answers flickering along under his rapid eye moves. he is my togetherness, simmering like a stew.
Subway MapSubway Philosophy is about New York, culture, sex, publishing, memories, alcohol, or a combination of the above. Originally taken from drunken musings on the subway, it has evolved into something extraordinarily similar to most young blogs: which is to say, redundant, romantic, and woefully introspective.
Current Subway ReadingWhite Teeth