comfortablynumb27

she moved constantly & never unpacked the boxes, like she'd fly away any second & watch the city unfold underneath like a lit-up bruise, with all its looping strands of streetlamps & cockeyed rivers & highways dangling jauntily from the face of the earth. she spun a symphony beneath her, hung a spindly bridge across the womb harbouring all the world's cigars & half its barren fish. you could send her a package & never be sure that it would reach her. she never left by plane because it meant she couldn't change her destination midflight & she listened exclusively to bob dylan & sundance film soundtracks. she sent christmas cards in march una