youre playing marvin gay in the car, explaining that his lyrics are of desperation. that term strikes a cord with me. desperate. desolate. destiny. deserving. designated. i cant think of anything past those, so i stare out of the window thinking that the faint murmur of your voice in the background of my thoughts matches nicely alongside the blur of a world passing by us as we move. its one of those moments where for no reason at all, and without any warning; you feel every-single-fucking-thing and nothing at all in painful juxtaposition with one another, side by side. i swallow hard and tell you “i feel fine.” three more months until i feel whole again.
