Sep 8, 2022
the bad poetry of it all.
i’m not fit for love. the lights at the edges of the swimming pool a nostalgic hue of amber the colour of christmas dinners and family hugs
but here i am, alone and the cold blue is calling me in i can taste the water there is no taste of chlorine in the swimming pool of my mind
there is no fear nor the deafening crack only the euphoria of the fall and the cool cold water with its warm embrace will you forgive me? i’m not fit for love. everything always seems more beautiful than the comfort of a man who has never known all the promises of a nightly swimming pool and the faint smell of chlorine it leaves behind.
