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its that pipe dreaming memoir never forgotten.
[ t e m p o r a r y/WIP ] /
( it's a memory without the caffeine )
8:30pm. Couch potatoes and television screens. Shades loosely shed nightingale street lamps. Piranha-filled aquarium blood bathed sardines. My body's bare with the underwear you bought for me.
No sound of voices, just bubbly water containers and me suckling onto candy cigarettes. /Sweet, salty and tangerine /- just the way I like it.
It wasn't always like this.
This lonely apartment usually had its loud moments. The sound of laughter in the living room after a round of shameless strip poker, the soft moans of lovey-dovey perverse flicks we hounded from the black-market, food fights splattered platter on the walls, pillow fight screams, and one night prank calls near that shabby telephone booth.
Sure, the neighbors used to shout at us for being so obnoxiously loud, but no one really cared at the time.
These broken pieces of our memories never seem to last long, do they?
I only remembered the genuine smiles and silly gestures we would use to make.
And now, the sounds of their voices were withered beneath my ears.
I don't remember those faces anymore.
"/I used to remember the good old days/."
That's what you said to me before you left.
Before everything went wrong.
Before everything went right.
Funny, you said you'd come back tomorrow.
But tomorrow never came.
just showing you all what i'm capable of. ;) (because i honestly need to give some purpose to this account anyway)
i'm not entirely happy with this, but we'll see what happens next in the edit version.
there's a reason why this is temporarily in poetry rather than fiction.