Dreamed about Berlin again. In a tower above the city I cried and cried and cried because the lights below were so beautiful, and I wanted to gather them up, but I knew they would feel like mist. A stranger pressed a handful of birdseed into my palm and I promised her I would save it for a special occasion. Instead, I smoked it with two American girls from Virginia. It tasted like granola and campfires. Later, we were winding through the city in a car. I was in the passenger seat and feeling detached, like I was moving free of physics, like I was a ghost. The driver was named Stasia, and we were lost, and I knew I should feel anxious, but I was a ghost. We passed by an alleyway where a sick woman was pleading with an officer, and then we heard violent gunshots. Months later, I would dream about a young girl with a million eyes; her father kept her hidden away, but I thought she was beautiful.
Why am I crying…
THIS IS MY FAVOURITE TWEET EVER