Whistler.

Sometimes I cannot remember whom my words refer to. My heart yearns for something it never really knew, and it fleets for the next occupant. I find the past in scents. I’ve looked for familiar eyes in unfamiliar faces. I’m attached to missing something, and I want it to be one of you. I simply do not care about a past love as much as my romanticising heart wishes. You could be the mountains. I’d rather find you there.


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