kazatasupa

barley wine and nora jones.

the house is empty. open windows without screens and bugs following paths beat by little wings. they come and go, as if driven by a methodical process; in and out they go, some stopping to feed from my blood, others wandering aimlessly along walls, floors and ceilings, still others drawn by the glow of a dimly lit lamp. a slight breeze occasionally lifts the curtains away from their listless hang, giving life to a house as if guided by an unseen hand.

i like this house. the warm wood floors, and soft evening colors. nora's voice fills the living space with such warmth that i can close my eyes and feel her presence next to me. if you can't see, she's sitting across the room - singing to me.

j and his girl just came home from dinner. sitting in the next room, they remind me of a painting. no words, little movement as their eyes are cast out into an infinite moment...

this place is so fucking moody. it fits me well...
for the time being.