‘…another memory scarred…’

It’s so cold; it disorients me. The air smells and feels like autumn, but the light is all wrong. Green and blue and too-bright sunlight stream across my retina, but my skin crawls. This is the kind of air that hardens me; it’s the kind of air that kills things. I think it’s fall again, and I play Placebo and crack the windows and drive too fast because it evokes in me a reckless determination to survive, viciously. It’s been too hot and too cold, where did spring go?

background noise: “you don’t care about us” placebo

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