good atlas

Without any intention, I found myself sitting on the floor with my guitar, and then, a song. I’d refrain from thinking that it stems from a quiet desire, or pain, even. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been re-reading Barthe’s A Lover’s Discourse. Or maybe, this is my dark glasses.

Atopos

Lonely hours
Sleight of hand
My day is over
It’s almost one

I think of all the things you said and how I run away
Cause waiting’s half the pain and all that’s left has gone to waste

Breathe underwater
Swim against the sea
Breath when you kiss me
I can’t see the way you see

Fight over
This fleeting heart
Tell our stories
From separate beds

These voices tell me not stay and not to run away
Cause waiting’s half the pain, these pages just won’t stay the same