all the good things in life will be gone one day so we might as well enjoy them while we can

in the room of a strange boy who can't see and has no center of vision so that if he looks straight at you all he sees is a big blurry spot

there's a teddy dog on a teddy-brown couch and orange pillows on a blue blanket and a garfield the size of two fists face-down smothered asleep and cute like a lion

pictures on the wall

tan and maroon

set of crayola markers by my hand and an empty jar that says orange honey (with little flowers) and a few stray pens and an umbrella hanging off the desk and it's so cute, rumpled lived-in messiness, a person's room says so much about them and i don't even know this boy, just borrowing his laptop

binders in a half-open drawer and trash can peeping out

vodka on the shelf

feeling a peculiar sense of loss today, probably from the straining and the straining and the straining for something that isn't there. I didn't come up here to use his computer for a livejournal post. I was asking for a laptop so I could use it to supplement parts of music that wasn't there, but his computer can't be taken downstairs so I'm here.

someone provide me with the real sound of a cello, sweet and pure and not this shadow of an echo in my head