The misty blanket of fog that hangs low in the sky and veils the crown of scrapers. A street corner singer, grooming softly and strumming their guitar, calloused fingers dancing across the fretboard. A hidden coffee shop, tucked away in a tiny alley scoping out the best second hand book store. Waiting for-

i started writing this around 2am but my friend called and i lost my trail of thought, however, i feel there is some unearthly beauty in the incomplete thought similar to how i often am at a loss for words in the middle of a heated argument.

so I'll just leave it here at this<3