{ fishbowls + portholes } - writer. observer. austin, tx

There is smoke rolling from an open window.
It's 4pm and the sheets are rumpled in a passionate way.
There is a porthole that exposes nothing but a reflection.
Cheers above a coffee table and they scatter to the noisy street.
So many stories, they go up and they fill my mind.
Lights turn on and others turn off.
Stairwells and picture frames trying to feel like home.
Broken promises and futures unknown float in the air like bad perfume.
It's 8pm and who knows what the truth is.
The later is gets the fewer there are to see but they are certainly more vivid.
If you have an imagination and empathy they may break your heart.
Who knows what the fish see when they look out.