cold nights in well

piercing cold in the dark by the field, long grass and a quiet breeze and field mice that ran over our toes in the dark. wandering back from the bar, drunk and stoned, that crisp european air tastes the same in well as it does in brussels, in paris, in prague. we are here, in a place from a dream, and we hold hands and skip back to our beds in the night. remember how this feels. remember the lonely feeling of being surrounded by 100 people all the time but knowing none of them. so isolated from the rest of your world in a way that connects you so deeply to the rest of it.

walking over cold cobblestones in paris.

i don’t know what i’m saying. lots of memories tonight.

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