silence can be productive. your unspoken words have the ability to congest the atmosphere just as air particles invisible to the eye still exist. but productivity isn’t always positive. just as a sour look on your lover’s face, though hard at work, is still backtracking. your conscious uses silence to play games with the minds of those around it, like a child dragging its feet on the ground on the way to the doctor.
your silence breaks through invisible barriers because it just has that kind of power.
TOP by Shelfies
Photos by Beth Kotz
(i remember the ease of your smile. like sunday morning. when we’d lay a blanket out on the grass. the soft breeze brushing the hair off your face, letting the haunting pass.)
good grades, college, graduation. none of it mattered as long as we could score that $1 hot dog at the stand today.
(i remember when things weren’t so good. you’d pace back and forth in our tiny apartment, saying things on the phone i never understood. if i could close my ears i would.)
tuesdays meant cruising through a dollar store with a crisp $1 bill in hand and endless possibilities ahead.
(i remember when we moved. there was hope floating in the breeze, retracting the haunting with every mile. your lips slowly cooperating back into a gentle smile.)
the haunting nonetheless brushed your little limbs in and held your smile captive. your afflictions became wrinkles. your strength lost in transition.
(now sundays lack ease. the strands of your hair are too heavy for the breeze.)
RAVEN’S SHROUD HOODED GOWN by House of Widow
CUSTOM SHOULDER CHAINS by Chad Popour
Photos by Sam Doyle
it occurred to me the other day that i like playing the observant. so i followed my appetite to the riverside where she resides. to sit back and watch her work. to offer nothing but stillness in the air.
my observant tendencies speak of nothing but my sole desire to focus on her every shift of atmosphere. my agenda avoids variations because she is the only sight that i crave.
i salivate at this anticipation.
i follow the path along the river but don’t make myself too visible. the stale taste in my mouth keeps me grounded; i shan’t lose sight of my goal.
as i walk i imagine the salt of her skin staining my indulgent lips. the sweet taste of fatality. a front row perseverance. an observatory.
HAT by Too Ugly for LA
HOODED JACKET by Front Row
Photos by Tyke Riggs