6 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, and I still don’t know which month it was then or what day it is now.
Blurred out lines from hangovers to coffee. Another vagabond lost to love. 4am alone and on my way. These are my finest moments. I scrub my skin to rid me from you and I still don’t know why I cried.
It was just something in the way you took my heart and rearranged my insides and I couldn’t recognise the emptiness you left me with when you were done. Maybe you thought my insides would fit better this way, look better this way, to you and us and all the rest.
But then you must have changed your mind or made a wrong because why did you leave?
6 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, and I still don’t know which month it was then or what day it is now.
I replace cafés with crowded bars and empty roads with broken bottles and this town is healing me slowly but still not slow or fast enough because there’s no right way to do this.
There is no right way to do this.
There is no right way to do this.
Charlotte Eriksson
Quotes about coffee: “6 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, and I still don’t know …”
