memoirs of a pianist.

I maintained a neutral spine upon the black marble by the fountain. My pupils follow the floors of the skyscraper ahead of me. My legs have gone numb, still unsure why. An urge has risen in me to write on my modern typewriter.

Ridicule follows me, most of it based off of monetary things. This life is more beautiful than I, than soul searching lesbians in Germany.

As of right now, I feel free. 
Wishing I could reside upon this marble. Letting the wind caress my abdomen. Watching the sunset fall off a skyscraper.

My mother would have a heart attack if she saw me this way. 



how we do