a man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river but then he's still left with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away but then he's still left with his hands.
{❦} This is her favorite part about being awake in the mornings.
“She said I don’t know if I’ve ever been good enough I’m a little bit rusty, and I think my head is caving in And I don’t know if I’ve ever been really loved By a hand that’s touched me, well I feel like something’s Gonna give and I’m a little bit angry—“
She’s cooking breakfast in her little boyshorts and a crop top, oblivious to anything besides the food in front of her and the song playing from the iPod dock to her left. There’s a pause in her singing as she reaches up towards the cabinet, pulling out the salt shaker and adding some to the eggs, wriggling her hips along with the motion.
”—I wanna take you for granted, Well I will, well I will."
if sam had to choose, he’d be a morning person. unfortunately, things rarely work out in his favor, and so he often ends up staying awake into the wee hours of the morning or just being too damn exhausted to get up any earlier than ten am. still, the days he is able to rise early, to get a coffee while it’s still hot or read a newspaper fresh off the press, he finds he likes the way the sun’s early beams slot through his sleazy motel-room blinds and cast geometric patterns across the carpet.
today seems to be one of those days.
the sun is bright, smiling at him from across the room. he blinks, chasing away the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes as music rings in his ears. must’ve been what woke him up.
he rises from the bed, taking a moment to stretch his arms over his head, and pads over to where autumn is dancing.
