She was underneath the overpass, sitting on a crate,smoking a cigarette. Her black bangs covered one eye. There used to be a road there, but it close..
eyes closedbreath slowedfeel the music deep inside mesettling where mysoul should besomething clicks and then i'm gonetendrils of incense smokewinding..
she is mebut i am not herhow can i bewhen i am an observeroutside her watching her burnmy sandalwood incense and candleson top of my deskwatching her ..