We smoked until our thoughts expired, then drank ‘til they were reborn. Masked by naiveté, hidden under the rusted roof of our tiny nest- you’re crouched over and cross-legged, striking matches. Only to throw them away, letting the wind steal them in a tourbillion of gin-soaked love. Lost in the oblivion of our youth, the ceiling turned to glass when we welcomed the night fall.

Greying by Gabrielle Wee.
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