L.A. Weatherly

I buried my face against his neck, breathing him in – the smell of machine oil, summertime, a thousand memories

I buried my face against his neck, breathing him in – the smell of machine oil, summertime, a thousand memories

– L.A. Weatherly –

Broken Sky

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Christopher Isherwood

Think of two people, living together day after day, year after year, in this small space, standing elbow to elbow cooking at the same small stove, squeezing past each other on the narrow stairs, shaving in front of the same small bathroom mirror, constantly jogging, jostling, bumping against each other’s bodies by mistake or on purpose, sensually, aggressively, awkwardly, impatiently, in rage or in love – think what deep though invisible tracks they must leave, everywhere, behind them!

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