he stumbled toward you on the train as soon as it was set in motion. you told him you were on your way to the flea market. instead of saying sorry, he promised to purchase you a record. and thus, you were no longer perusing on your own. typewriters, tarnished jewelry, miscellaneous antiquities … and, of course, records. you told him to choose the album. somehow, he picked out one of your favorites. flea market trips became a ritual between you two, amongst other things.
maybe I’m the best mistake you ever made it sounds so fucking beautifulwhen you say my name i’m praying to a god, a god I don’t believe the more I hide my scars, the easier I bleed
