“…but the only thing I ever really wanted to say was wrong, was wrong, was wrong.” The Sundays, “Here’s where the story ends”
always the wrong thing at the wrong time. timing issues. misfiring spark plug. an engine horribly out of tune, out of sorts. i’ve done all this sorting through my life only to find it is all a mess. i have no idea where anything is or how it got there. but we got there. we are there. some where in the thick of this. thick fingered, i spread my hands wide. sheafs and sheafs. right beside me and i miss you constantly, like a bone fracture that hasn’t healed quite right during the rain.