Some Days

Some days I want to visit beautiful art museums with you, analyse every uninterpretable picture; try to pick it apart and find our favourite objects – things like the maps and stars and constellations and clear surfaces. Id kiss you in front of monumental buildings and close my eyes for longer than I meant to. I’d eat overly priced food in central cities at the top of buildings whilst the steam fogs up the window. It would be early February, when nothing is happening, and in the bleakest of whether, I will look at you and realise I am warm.

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