Coming down off everything you've made up in your head. You make what no one else can. You get all the way there, just to bring yourself back. Thinking it over, I leave you in the lofty dream space I created. Cigarettes and palo santo, the heat fades and the light pours in.
Write another day off where you spent too much time alone. It's the silence in between the high of human interaction. It's required. Or at least you require it to create. Sometimes you have to be alone to figure yourself out.
In transit to a motel near the airport. Sipping prosecco from the bottle, and calling the front desk. Five dollar french fries for lunch in the hotel bar. The worst white wine, but the place is filled with characters. The back door's open, there's black guitar cases lined up in the lobby.
There's mirrors on the celling, you could lay for hours under the smoke. High off the ethanol. I see the world through the small moments, through the details and cracks in the wall.
originally seen on NAKID MAGAZINE
fur coats by Katelyn Kope
photos by Jen Senn