Sometimes I leave too much for my intuition.
Sometimes I can’t see the knife, I can only see the shining edge where two sides meet.
In an evening where everything seems eternal… sometimes I forget that loneliness has no critics, no flashes, no bullshits of matters.
And I find myself on my bed still thinking, still trying to live one more second, still looking at the smile of the most beautiful woman.
Still fighting with the world in silence…in the most hostile of comfortability.
Break me…take the balls out of me…make me a leopard of metropolitan…
but leave me when I don’t want to be bothered for the betterment of the words…that’s the only flower in between the baked pages.
Unpretentious and unattainable.

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Photograph: Oli Jackson.