A day in Paris it was in April I am digging and digging through the layers of my inner body my inner sadness is endless

Pouring dew the tears flowed and I kept digging and digging Soulage, and solace, it just rained The flower perk is full of drops and the sun is barely shining but for me it's shining enough and I forget for 30 minutes what is going on around me

Home in the one of the many 2 sweaters one of him and one of me I lay them on top of each other to find a bodily remain of his

You know sometimes life stops and goes and it's like a shawty like a melody in your head and your ipod is not on shuffle but it's stuck on repeat.

i Dig and dig and I keep finding, pictures, pictures, pictures, he made so many pictures, I thought he was caring mostly about sound, but there are so many pictures, of what sound needs to exist : pictures of walls for the sound to bounce on and pictures of musicians for sound to be made and pictures of us for the sound to heard

I dig and dig and if I dig deep enough i will find a crust and the crust is what, still whacky and needs to wait.