My Warehouse Eyes…

my arabian drums.

  

I listened to that song on repeat today with the sunroof open and contrived to remember driving with you, the top down and the engine roaring. You used to sing all the time. Not for anyone, not for anything. Just for you, for your life. I can’t remember when you stopped singing, yet I find myself trying to at the randomest of times. Making tea, looking at jewelry, depositing money at the bank. It catches me off guard and I swear I can feel the Earth moving beneath me, roiling, like the ground could open at any second and eat me alive.

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